


Ruben and Alvie and Coffee and Donuts

by kikabennet, tiredalwavs



Category: Do No Harm (TV), House M.D.
Genre: Alvie adorable overload, Alvie talks a lot, Bipolar Disorder, Gen, Jason Cole returns, M/M, Multi, Neurodiversity, Past Abuse, Past Torture, Past Violence, Psychiatric Hospitals, Recovery, Ruben and Alvie are sweet potatoes, Too much Lin Manuel Miranda, oh my god they were roommates, they were roommates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2019-10-12 20:20:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17474336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kikabennet/pseuds/kikabennet, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiredalwavs/pseuds/tiredalwavs
Summary: “I’m Alvie, by the way. well technically my name’s Juan Alvarez but Alvie’s easier, rolls of the tongue, rhymes better, I think. what’s your name? you look like a...uhhh...you look like a Ricardo! somethin’ mysterious and kinda broody y’know? I can call you Ricardo if ya want. Oh shit, there’s books down here, too? you ever read them all? That’s a lot too read, In my opinion. I read one or two last year but the words get all jumbled up and they ain’t exactly all that interesting. I like the words I come up with better. What’s your name again?”“Yeah, uhm...I’m Ruben.” and it’s kinda a big deal for him since it’s the first time anyone’s asked him for his name or something.---After nine torturous months in Jamaica, Ruben winds up with no identity working in a New York City bookstore. He vows never to mixed up in anyone's problems ever again, but when he meets a homeless Juan Alvarez, his instinct to help others returns, but maybe they can help each other on this long road of recovery.Do No Harm/House MD crossver written by myself and Tiredalwavs





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I think this might be the first possibly only Do No Harm/House crossover in existence. It's definitely a work in progress. Tiredalwavs and I are still figuring out the characters and what not, but we hope you enjoy it. Ruben always needs love, and Alvie definitely needs love because where are all the Alvie fics at? We hope you enjoy! Also, since we are still figuring this out, feel free to comment with any ideas/suggestions. We'd love to hear from you guys!

It's late when the car comes to a halt in front of a business that's closed for the night. Rain taps against the window and the car heater is too warm. Ruben doesn't squirm. He sits very still. He's learned to practically be a statue when need be, not even moving an eyelash.

"We're here," Ian says, picking at something in his teeth. He looks over at Ruben, who hesitantly returns the stare.

"Oh." Is all he can say.

He's not even sure where 'here' is. He knows they're in Manhattan, but why? Ian reaches over and Ruben involuntarily flinches, but Ian simply unlocks the passenger door.

"You got rid of Jason," he says. "You perfected the kill drug. You did your job, Rubes."

Ruben says nothing. He did perfect the kill drug. He hasn't heard from Jason in weeks, or maybe even months. Ruben lost all sense of time long ago.

"I always keep my end of the deal," Ian continues. "You're free to go."

Ruben's brows furrow slightly. It takes a him a little while to process what that even means. Go where? Free to do what? He looks at Ian, who seems to understand his confusion.

"I'm letting you live," he says casually. "This is New York. 'Make it here, make it anywhere', right?"

"But Philadelphia-" Ruben begins.

"Not an option," Ian says, still in that sickeningly sweet casual tone. "I can't have all this Jason bullshit hovering around and I can't have you-" he snakes his arm behind Ruben and Ruben goes stiff as Ian's fingers lightly brush his back through his shirt, feeling the skin where Ruben knows ugly marks are there. "Getting me in trouble."

Ruben tries to control his breathing as Ian's knuckles gently rub circles in that spot, staring at him.

"Right, Ruben?" His voice is a little more threatening, a little less casual now.

"Right." Ruben swallows hard. "My, uh...my mom and sisters...?"

"Think you're dead," Ian says. "And if they find out you're alive, they'll be dead."

Ruben nods, tears stinging his eyes. He knows that Ian will do it. He knows that he can't see his family.

"You don't have to go, you know," Ian says, killing the ignition. "We had a lot of fun. I could use that chemist brain of yours to make more drugs, earn big cash."

"Do you..." Ruben forces himself to ask. "Do you want me to go?"

Ian stares at him for a long time. Finally, he removes his hand and opens the passenger side door. "I want a break to be honest," he says. "But I'll be in touch. After all, you'll stay where I put you, right?"

"Right..." Ruben's voice is small and pathetic, even to him.

"Good boy." Ian pats his cheek roughly and nods at the door.

Ruben watches Ian drive off, tires peeling. He's standing in the rain in some of Jason's clothes that don't fit correctly, with a backpack filled with cash. He had been wondering why Ian had given him the backpack. He takes it off when he feels something vibrating inside. A burner phone.

_Ian: Don't lose this phone_

  A loud clap of thunder sounds and then the rain really starts coming down. Ruben can't tell if the water running down his face is the rain or his tears. He legs give in underneath him and he falls to his knees on the wet sidewalk, and he breaks down sobbing.

\------

_Nine months. That's how long Ruben was in Jamaica. Long enough to create human life. Long enough to destroy his._

_Ruben is never sure what Jason or Ian have in store for him. Ultimately, it's destroying the other one, but being trapped in the small house that's somewhere by the ocean (Ruben knows this because he can hear seagulls throughout the day), he never knows if he'll be working over a makeshift kitchen table lab for an hour or six hours or getting thrown around or punched in the jaw or cut with a knife._

_He's learned to stop crying. Crying seems to make Jason want to 'out-pity' him if that makes any sense. When Ruben cries, Jason talks about how bad things are for him and how's he's hurting too. He goes on and on about missing life with his son and talks about all of the patients that need him, but never talks about Ruben's mother or his sisters or his life. Ruben is sick with a fever, his vision going in and out as he sits hunched over the chemistry set, getting up every few minutes to go vomit in the kitchen sink, and Jason still talks about his own problems._

_Crying fuels Ian's desire to torment him. He already treats Ruben poorly, but when Ruben finally breaks down and cries, that's when Ian's fists fly and he hits him and grabs him by the hair and smashes his face into the wall. He eventually grows bored with this and graduates to even worse methods of toture-filling up the bathtub and dunking his head under until he nearly passes out, putting his arm over the gas burner on the stove, choking him, hitting him with various objects like belts._

_One night when he stumbles back into the house beyond intoxicated, he takes a knife and tells Ruben he's going to kill him. He stumbles around, waving the knife, slurring and screaming, and when he finally takes Ruben's by his thin wrist, they wrestle over the knife and somewhere in the mix, it actually does go in Ruben's gut._

_Ruben doesn't think Ian actually meant to stab him. He honestly believes he just wanted to scare him, maybe give him a few nicks with the blade, but in trying to wriggle out of his grasp, it happened._

_It happens so fast, he'll never truly know, and Ian staggers backwards, shocked, as blood starts pooling in the front of the too-big sweatshirt Ruben's wearing. Ruben presses on the wet spot, and his vision goes black shortly after._

_He wakes up in bed, Jason and Ian's bed, not the thin mattress on the floor he normally sleeps on, and Jason is quietly changing bandages on his lower abdomen. He's in a lot of pain, but  relief floods through him. Jason will be forced to get medical help. The wound is too deep, he can tell. He'll be free. He'll get to go home. Jason makes brief eye contact with him and Ruben drifts off again._

_When he wakes up a second time, he is still in Jason's bed. He's wearing no shirt and can see the bandages look more professional than the first aid kit stuff in the house. He gently peels one side back and sees that he has stitches._

_"A nurse fixed you up," Jason says, walking into the room with a glass of water and two pills. "I paid her good money to keep quiet."_

_Tears fill Ruben's eyes and he lays back down, turning his head to the side. Jason gently taps his ear and says, "Hey, take these for the pain."_

_If Ruben wasn't so broken, he'd refuse, but he is broken. He's very broken, and so he maneuvers into a half sitting position and takes the pills._

\---------

It's been five months and two days since Ruben was dropped off on a street corner in Manhattan. He hasn't heard from Ian since that night. He wants to hop a bus to Philadelphia and see his mother and sisters, he wants to call them, but Ian told him not to. Ian said he would kill them if Ruben contacted them. 

Ruben finds a small one bedroom apartment in a run-down neighborhood. Luckily, the owner doesn't require a credit check or even make him sign papers. That could have been because he paid three months rent in cash on the spot. The woman in the apartment next door to him owns a book a few blocks over and seemed to understand that Ruben was in some kind of trouble. 

"I could use an extra set of hands at the store if you're still looking for a job," she says one day when they're both leaving at the same time, locking their doors. 

Ruben does need the money, and right now, he can't go back to the hospital or any hospital. Ruben Marcado doesn't exist. Jason had told him that his family held a funeral for him. 

So that's how Ruben winds up working in Jan's bookstore (literally called 'Jan's Bookstore'). It doesn't get much business outside of hipster types and college students and the elderly. It's a large store on a corner, it has a basement area with a few tables and Jan will make coffee and serve pie if customers want it. Ruben enjoys spending his breaks down in the basement with a strong cup of coffee and a slice of Jan's apple-blueberry pie. He likes that the bookstore is dimly lit and quiet. Jan pays him enough to keep himself afloat and she never asks questions about where he came from. 

"I will tell you, though," she warns him one day while they're working side by side organizing a 'books you can read with your cat' display. "This place isn't gonna last forever. I'm thinking towards the end of the year of putting all this in storage and selling online. My youngest son is going off to college so there's no reason for me to even stay in New York."

Ruben understands, but it saddens him. He's fallen into a comfortable groove here. It helps being here in the bookstore where he can keep busy and things are quiet. It helps with the panic attacks and the nightmares and the constant wondering where Ian is and what he's doing and when he'll come back for him.

\-------

It's a slow late Tuesday morning in the store. Jan doesn't work on Tuesday or Thursday mornings because she teaches a senior Yoga class, so Ruben is by himself. He's already dusted the shelves and placed the pies from the refrigerator in the basement in the little display case on the counter by the register and started the coffee pot. A couple of college kids come in who don't have class yet and mill around, but Ruben knows the type. He knows they're not hear to buy anything. College kids come in because it's a bookstore which might as well be a museum to someone as young as them and it makes them feel enriched and cultured when they post on Facebook or Instagram that they're 'picking up coffee in the bookstore'. 

Ruben doesn't mind, though. He smiles politely at them, two girls in paint-spattered t-shirts and jeans, and they smile back as they walk around the store and go down to the basement. After they leave, an elderly Chinese woman comes in and buys a book on horticulture. After that, two men holding hands with a small fluffy dog on a leash come in, but they just want coffee and pie. Ruben tells them he can't give them coffee to go and they leave. 

He tries to keep busy by fixing some of the books on the shelves that are sticking out or resting on top of other books and while he's down in the basement doing that, he hears the bell above the door chime upstairs. He makes his way back upstairs and stops. There's a person standing by the register behind the counter wearing a hooded jacket. The hood is up. It obstructs their view of him. He freezes and feels all of the blood rush from his head to his toes. 

He is about to get robbed. 

Ruben contemplates quietly going back down the stairs and hoping they'll just take whatever they want out of the register and leave, but as he takes his first step back, the stairs creak loudly beneath him. The intruder turns to him and pulls their hood down. It's a young man, and by their bone structure and Ruben's good intuition on honing in on others like him, he guesses a young Puerto Rican man. 

"Oh, I'm sorry!" The guy removes his hand from his pockets to show that he's holding no weapons. He moves from behind the counter, his hands still up. "I wasn't tryin' to steal nothin', I swear."

Ruben says nothing.

"The key ring on the register..." the other guy says.

The key! Ruben left the key in the register! How could he do that? He ignores his fear and walks around to the other side of the counter to make sure it's still there. It's Jan's key, and she has a a little clear plastic ball filled with glitter hanging off of it on a chain. 

"I just thought it was cool lookin'," the guy says. "I mean, at first I did think about taking it just so I could bounce it, you know? But I wouldn't even know how to get it off the key and then I just got distracted and I saw you had pie up here. What is this? Like a Starbucks library?"

"It's a bookstore," Ruben says, a little annoyed now, but still very nervous. "We do sell pie."

The guy grins like a little five year old and digs around in the pockets of his jeans, even turns them inside out. 

"Oh," he says. "I ain't got any money."

He's still smiling, but there's a sadness in his eyes. Ruben sighs and asks, "Would you like a piece of pie?"

Maybe this guy is homeless or something, and normally it wouldn't be Ruben's problem, but something about the situation tells him it's okay to shell out two dollars to buy this guy a slice of pie. He slides the door of the display case open and asks, "Cranberry almond or lemon meringue?" 

"Lemon meringue," the guy says. "Used to eat that all the time as a kid when my grandma made it. She called it 'cloud pie'."

Ruben can't help but smile a little at that as he places the slice onto a saucer and asks, "Coffee?"

"Sure!" He drums his fingers- all ten of them, against the counter top. “Man no one ever gives me coffee. Say I’m already too wound up, but I like the way it tastes. Really dark and serious. Like you! Ha, just kidding. Kinda.You got creamer?”

After Ruben hands him both items the guy remembers his manners. 

"Thank you," he says. "That's really nice of you. I just moved here and it's been a pain in the ass tryin' to find a job. I mean, I want a job, and it's New York and you'd think it'd be full of jobs. I can do so much, you know? I worked in my grandpa's butcher shop for a while and I was a grocery checker and I even did a few runs at the poetry slam, but they don't pay you for that-"

"There are tables downstairs," Ruben says.

"Oh." The guy nods. "Thanks."

He starts for the stairs and then turns back around.

 

“I’m Alvie, by the way. well technically my name’s Juan Alvarez but Alvie’s easier, rolls of the tongue, rhymes better, I think. what’s your name? you look like a...uhhh...you look like a Ricardo! somethin’ mysterious and kinda broody y’know? I can call you Ricardo if ya want. Oh shit, there’s books down here, too? you ever read them all? That’s a lot too read, In my opinion. I read one or two last year but the words get all jumbled up and they ain’t exactly all that interesting. I like the words I come up with better. What’s your name again?”

“Yeah, uhm...I’m Ruben.” and it’s kinda a big deal for him since it’s the first time anyone’s asked him for his name or something.

Alvie comes back up the stairs still holding a full cup of coffee and a whole slice of pie. 

"Mind if I just eat up here?" He asks. There's also a book tucked under his arm. 

Before Ruben can answer, Alvie, still holding his food, drink, and book, shimmies onto the counter with his legs dangling. 

"You know, you'd probably have more customers if you had donuts," he says. "Nothing wrong with pie, but coffee and donuts just go together so nicely and when you're reading, you can hold a donut in one hand and turn the page with the other, but pie, you have to have a fork and a plate and you can make the pages all sticky..."

Alvie plays with his food more than he eats it, but that could be because he's using his mouth to talk and just goes on and on about anything and everything.

And it's oddly comforting, Ruben finds. It's been a long time since he's stood next to another human being this long other than Jan, and it's almost like one of the podcasts he listens to as he goes to bed or tries to settle down from a bout of anxiety. Alvie talks and talks, gesturing wildly with his hands, accidentally sloshing coffee around and quickly apologizing before continuing.

"Tomorrow-" he announces suddenly. "I'm gonna bring you donuts. Since you gave me pie."

"You really don't have to," Ruben says.

"I do have to," Alvie tells him. "Because I'll have to come back anyway. I wanna buy this book."

He shows him the book he brought up from the basement. It's a book of poems. A little outdated. 

"You like poetry?" Ruben asks.

“Yeah, I mean, it’s not exactly any Tupac or Jay Z, but it’s got some decent rhymes. It’s inspiration, Y’know? Always need some of that. Well, some people. Not me. I’m full of ideas. I just like lookin’ at other people’s sometimes.”

He then begins to ramble on again about which rap artists didn't deserve the fame they got and the art of free styling and after nearly half an hour, he has half a slice of pie left and an empty coffee cup. He hands the dishes to Ruben and then starts to pass him the book.

"Keep it," Ruben says, actually smiling now. 

"But I'm comin' back tomorrow," Alvie sounds disappointed. "I'm bringin' you donuts."

"Then you can come back and tell me which poems were your favorite," Ruben offers.

Alvie grins. He slides off the counter and bounces to the door. He points at Ruben.

"Coffee and donuts," he says.

"Right." Ruben nods. "Coffee and donuts."

After Alvie leaves, the store seems quieter, but in a different, less pleasant way. Ruben busies himself again, washing the dishes in the sink down in the basement restroom, organizing more books, and cleaning up the spilled coffee from where Alvie was swinging his cup around. He drops the wad of folded paper towels he's holding and when he bends down to pick them up, there's something on the floor. 

A torn paper bracelet from a psychiatric hospital. 

_Name: Alvarez, Juan_

_\--------_

_"I killed him," Ruben mutters, running his hands up and down and all over his face as he sits in the dark of his room on his thin mattress that has no sheets, only a blanket. "I killed him, I killed him..."_

_Jason Cole was gone. He had happened to perfect the kill drug only hours before Jason and Ian's transition, and Ian is a bloodhound when it comes to lying, so he knows Ruben is hiding something when he says he hasn't finished it yet. He beats Ruben, throws him around the bathroom where there are nice, hard surfaces to smash his face into, and then takes out a scalpel and gives him several quick cuts across his arms that sting terribly. It's nothing compared to what comes next. As Ian is screaming at him to tell the truth, he takes a bottle of cleaner from under the sink (it's never been used to actually clean, but Ruben did have to drink a cap full of it once) and pours it over the fresh cuts. Ruben cries out as it drips down his arms and onto the floor._

_"I finished it!" He wails. "I finished it!"_

_And so he gives Ian the kill drug, and the next morning does not transition back into Jason. He stays Ian for days and then weeks, Ruben isn't sure, but it's a long time before that night in New York City. A long time of just Ian, who still takes pleasure in hurting him, even after Jason's not around to hinder him any longer._

_\-------_

Ruben hates looking at himself in a mirror. After his shower he deliberately avoids it, well aware of the scars and burn marks all over his body. He can identify almost each and every one. He really wishes he could have a legal identity again because he's also missing a tooth near the back of his mouth from a time where Ian slammed his head down against the bathroom counter. He needs to see a dentist. Hell, he needs to see a doctor. Some of his wounds never healed properly-especially the areas of skin that were burned with the bleach and cleaning solutions. He's alive, but he's ugly. He's ruined. 

He quickly dresses in a big sweat shirt and flannel pajama pants and climbs into bed to listen to one of his podcasts. It's nice to drift away to somewhere Jason and Ian aren't. He plays idly with a fidget toy as the speaker goes on and on, and suddenly he hears Alvie instead, going on and on. He smiles just a little.

"Coffe and donuts," he mutters, and for some reason, sleeps a lot better that night than he has been. 

 

 

To Be Continued...

 

Find us on tumblr! [Kikabennet](https://kikabennet.tumblr.com/) and [Tiredalwavs](https://tiredalwavs.tumblr.com/) and feel free to shoot us thoughts and ideas!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back! Thank you all for the kudos and comments. Every time we get feedback, Ruben and Alvie get a donut. We hope you're enjoying this story so far and remember, feel free to shoot us any ideas in the comments or shoot us an ask on tumblr. Thanks!

There was a light rain again today. It slipped down the bookshop windows in slow, lazy streaks, and Ruben was content to stare in silence as each little droplet made its way to the edge where glass met brick. It was quiet in the shop, the way he often preferred it, but Ruben kept glancing back at the few boxes of donuts he’d procured for his measly customer base for the day. It was a nice idea, but what a waste. They’d be stale by evening. But the comfortable silence he slipped into didn’t exactly last for long. Before Ruben had even registered that someone had  _ finally _ come in, before the light tinkling of the bell had even gone quiet, Alvie was already filling the room with one-sided conversation.

 

“Man, that homeless guy down the block, you know, the one with the weird orangey poncho thing? Every damn day he asks me for money, and I get it man, times is tight, but I ain’t  _ got  _ any. You’d think he’d recognize me by now. Guess not. Hey—“ Alvie paused, but only briefly, “You got donuts? You didn’t think I’d pull through?” he asked Ruben with an incredulous grin, hoisting up the thin paper bag he’d had tucked inside his hoodie for safekeeping in the rain. “That’s okay. I don’t blame you, Ruben. I now I don’t ‘xactly look like a trustworthy dude, but  _ trust me _ . I don’t play when it comes to donuts.” He plopped down the bag on the counter and eagerly started pulling out its contents. “See, you got glazed, and there ain’t nothin’ wrong with that, but you gotta have a  _ variety.  _ People like to choose. They like a bit of excitement like that. I brought eclairs, some sprinkly ones, a couple cake ones, which— I’m not hatin’, but they kinda suck —and a shit-ton of chocolate donut holes.”

 

Ruben still looked a bit caught off guard, but there was a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “...Thank you,” he finally managed once it seemed clear Alvie was uncharacteristically waiting for his response. “You really didn’t have to go to all that trouble.”

“Oh it’s cool. I found ten bucks yesterday on the subway. Figure I had to blow it on somethin’ sooner or later. Donuts seemed the obvious choice. ‘Specially since you didn’t have any around here, and I thought if I was gonna be here today, I might as well have a decent meal,” Alvie hummed, already popping a small handful of donut holes into his mouth, causing his cheeks to bulge slightly as he chewed.

 

“Donuts hardly hold any nutritional value, you know that, right? They’re just sugar. I wouldn’t call them a ‘decent meal’ by a long shot,” Ruben snorted. Yeah. He actually snorted. When was the last time he’d even laughed?

 

“Opinions are cool, man, but Imma have to disagree with you there. Strongly. Donuts is a decent a meal as any. Taste better than any vegetable anyways.” Alvie shrugged and took another few of the small pastries from the bag, starting to browse the bookshelves. “Plus ‘s cheap. ‘Cause now I got somethin’ to eat  _ and  _ I can get that book.”

  
  


———-   
  


Ruben isn’t sure why, but Alvie’s growing on him. He’s come to the store like clockwork every day for nearly a month, and every day Jan notes Ruben’s whole demeanor seems to shift. He smiles more, even laughs, occasionally. So, Jan, who would normally be a bit perturbed by someone who could never actually contributed to the store’s dwindling income, decides that she likes him, too. Both she and Ruben have come to accept that the bookstore is more of a library to Alvie, anyways, and at least he always returns the books. She greets him politely as he comes in at the same time as usual, right at open, waving a science fiction book around.

“Space pirates!” Alvie announces proudly as he sets the book down by the register. Ruben wordlessly hands him a cup of coffee.

 

“I know, it’s fun one, isn’t it? Full of adventure. How are you, Alvie?” Jan asks with a small, amused smile. 

 

“Oh me? I’m good as ever. Finished that one up this morning,” Alvie says cheerfully, already moving in to claim the few donuts Ruben now kept aside just for him. He took a bite of an eclair, chewing quickly so as to keep talking. “I never read books this fast in high school. Got in trouble lots ‘cause I couldn’t keep up with the class, you know? But I guess I ain’t got nothin’ better to do. If only they could see me now,” he grinned, leaning against the counter. “How are _you,_ Ruben? Did you read anything? Have any donuts yet?”  
  
“No, I think I’m good on the sugar right now,” Ruben says with a faint smile, his eyes glinting with mirth. “But I’m doing fine. My only complaint so far today is the rain.”  
  
“ _Tell me about it_!” Alvie groans dramatically, shooting a well-deserved glare at the sky from the window. “I had to throw out my last pair of socks, they got so damn soaked. And get this-- no fresh socks at the clinic today. Can you _believe_ that? Since when did they stop offerin’ up socks? You see, when you wear sneakers, socks are _essential_ to--”

 

“Clinic?” Ruben interrupts, unable to help himself. His brows furrow slightly with confusion. Why on earth is Alvie going to a clinic? And why is he trying to get  _ socks _ at said clinic?

 

“Yeah,” Alvie says. “Free showers, and they used to give free socks, but I guess the economy is tight and all, so they gotta start cuttin’ costs somewhere. I just didn’t think my feet would be the first ones to take the hit,” he sighs and takes another bite of his cream filled pastry, mouth full despite his need to continue talking. “I’f meffed up.”

 

There’s a long pause. “Alvie, if you need money--” 

Ruben’s frowning, and Alvie doesn’t like it. It makes him look sad. Or, well, sadder than usual. “Nononono, I’m gonna stop ya there. It’s all good. I’m sure they’ll get another shipment or whatever soon enough. Sometimes they run out, and I can live without for a few days. It’s no biggie,” he quickly assures, smiling brightly as if that would somehow erase the concern building in both Jan and Ruben’s expressions.

 

“Where are you staying?” Ruben presses. It takes him a moment, but his tired mind finally clicks together an explanation that would make sense. Halfway houses were common around this area, and Alvie certainly seemed like he didn’t have anyone he cared to see or a job to keep up with. Maybe he was transitioning from an institution? Was he a former criminal? No, no. That didn’t make sense. The only thing Alvie would do would be _maybe_ steal donuts. He certainly seemed desperate enough to get his hands on them the moment he was in the store.   
  
“Uhm…” Alvie’s smile was long gone when Ruben leveled his gaze with him again, and now he was reaching up into the short crop of his hair and pulling slightly. A nervous tic. He knew them when he saw them. “I mean, sometimes down the block on the stoop of that old bank, but the cops don’t like it and they wake me up mad early. But sometimes there’s space at the shelter across town, too, and I just take the subway there if I can hop the bars and not get caught. It ain’t so bad, really. Not as bad as I thought it would be. There’s lotsa places where the rain can’t get you and most the homeless guys are cool.”  
  
“So...you’re homeless,” Ruben clarifies, clearing his throat uncomfortably. How come he hadn’t picked up on that sooner? God, he’d never felt so self-absorbed. For all of his observant habits, he hadn’t bothered to put two and two together as to why Alvie hung around here from open to close and ate all the leftover pie and stale donuts he could get. Alvie was _homeless._   
  
“I prefer the term temporarily without a house in the area?” Alvie tries with a sheepish grin, but Ruben’s worry didn’t seem seem to be letting up, so he sighs and begins to explain. “I mean, I had a home, y’know, with my mom, but she died and then I lived a friend for a bit and then with my cousin out in Phoenix but the air was so _dry_ and I think she got tired of havin’ me around anyways, so I came here. It’s...what do they call it, the land of opportunity? Or whatever? I don’t know. I just thought there would be jobs, you know, but turns out no one’s hiring. Like anywhere. It’s crazy.” Of course, there _were_ places hiring, but hardly any wanted a psych-ward frequent on their staff. They always promised to follow up, but nothing ever came from it. Alvie had given up months ago. “But like I said, street’s ain’t as bad as TV makes ‘em out to be. And the whole sock ordeal’s really not the worst. So what if my feet are wet? Everything’s wet with all the dang rain. So it’s whatever. Anyways. Can you pass me that glazed?”  
  
Ruben did just that and decides to let the conversation drop from there. He gives Jan a grateful sort of look as she leads Alvie back to a few new books that had been donated to the shop, his talking growing more distant while his own thoughts grew louder. He needed a second to process this, and more importantly, come up with a solution. 

\---

 

By close, Alvie is gathering his few new books and loading them into his backpack, humming along to some song that only he could really hear. He shrugs on the straps and pulls up his hood, unbothered by the thunder sounding just outside. “Hey, so I’m gonna jet, but I’ll be back tomorrow with the books, so you ain’t gotta--” 

 

“Do you want to come stay with me?” Ruben asks suddenly, before he even quite registers the words tumbling out his mouth. Alvie blinks back at him. “Uhm...it’s supposed to get really bad tonight, and I live nearby. I have a couch you can sleep on. At least, you know, for tonight.”  
  
Alvie looks genuinely surprised, his eyes widening slightly. A stupid big grin spreads across his face. “Yeah, if that’s cool with you? I don’t wanna be a burden on you or anything, though, you know? So only if you’re one hundred percent cool with it. Are you one hundred percent cool with it, Ruben?”  
  


“Yeah,” Ruben breathes, still kind of wrapping his head around what he’s saying _as_ he’s saying it. “I’m one hundred percent.” This is...kind of a solution, right?  
  
“ _Sweet,”_ Alvie beams. “Okay, so I’m thinkin’ we could watch a movie. You got cable, right? I saw this flyer last week in fronta the AT&T store building, says they got a whole _marathon_ of X-Men movies. There’s this one that I saw forever ago, the guy with the claws? Wolverine? Yeah, okay, he’s sick, but there’s this blue chick, right? Get this, Ruben, she can _shapeshift._ If that one’s on tonight, we _gotta_ watch it. It’s crazy what they can make happen these days on the big screen. It looks crazy real. And then, there’s this other guy…”   
  
Ruben finds himself smiling again as he leads the way out of the store to lock up, and for some reason, he finds himself wondering why he hadn’t just invited Alvie over sooner.

 

\------

 

“Sorry it’s not very furnished,” Ruben says, though he’s not sure because it’s  _ his _ apartment and he’s nice enough to let Alvie stay the night.

 

He goes in first, opening the door just wide enough for Alvie to squeeze in with his large backpack. Alvie looks around, his eyes taking everything in, which isn’t much. There’s a small loveseat he got from Jan. A breakfast table with only two chairs. He has no decorations on the wall, no photographs anywhere. Deep in his heart he believes he’ll be able to return home someday, and so he tries to make his living situation look as temporary as possible. 

 

“I like the plants,” Alvie says, noting the greenery by the living room window. Ruben really does like the window. It’s big with a built in window seat. 

“So, um, yeah,” Ruben says. “Make yourself at home. I’ll make us coffee.”

“Cool,” Alvie says, dropping his backpack unceremoniously to the floor. He goes over to the plants, touching each leaf very gently with his fingertips. 

 

Ruben almost trembles as he makes the coffee. He’s not afraid of Alvie, not really, but he’s afraid of Ian. He frequently imagines him barreling in through the front door-the way he did many times back in Jamaica, wordlessly grabbing Ruben by the back of his neck. Most of the time he was angry about other things, but Ruben was a live-in punching bag, so it was easy to return home and take out all that anger on someone who submitted to the abuse. 

 

_ “Ruben!” _

 

_ Ruben, hunched over his makeshift chemistry set, barely even has time to prepare himself as Ian’s heavily booted footsteps make their way into the kitchen. He grabs Ruben’s arm, jerking him off the barstool and wordlessly parades him into the living room, shoving him into the wall. _

 

“ _ Strip,” he orders, like a prison guard void of any emotion. _

 

_ “Ian, please,” Ruben’s voice is small and hoarse. He knows what’s about to happen and he mentally runs through a list of anything he might have done wrong in the past few hours. _

 

_ “NOW!” Ian barks, slapping Ruben across the face.  _

 

_ Trying not to cry, Ruben unbuttons the large shirt he’s wearing and carefully takes it off. He steps out of his sweatpants and carefully turns around, placing his hands on the wall. He closes his eyes, unable to keep a few tears from sliding down his cheeks.  _

 

_ “FUCKING Jason!” Ian snarls, and Ruben opens his mouth and silently hisses as he feels the first sting of of the metal belt buckle.  _

 

_ So that’s what has him so upset.  _

 

_ Jason. _

 

_ Jason who tends to Ruben’s wounds the following morning, mumbling a quick ‘sorry’ when Ruben flinches slightly at the pain, but that’s all Jason is sorry about. He’s not sorry about holding him prisoner. He’s not sorry about Ian whipping him with a belt until he bleeds. Jason, Ruben realizes suddenly, doesn’t and has never cared about him. The thought is ridiculous, because it’s so obvious now, but for so many nights, Ruben fantasized about Jason coming to his senses and taking Ruben home. The realization makes him cry softly into the pillow as Jason doctors  the marks on his back. He pretends not to notice and when he’s finished he says, “I’ll let you sleep a while longer.” _

 

It was at this point that Alvie found the plants less interesting than the process of coffee-making in the kitchen. Alvie trods in and curiously watches Ruben for a long few seconds, and it takes him a moment, but he gathers that something is definitely off. Ruben is gripping the edge of the counter, his hands cold and clammy. He’s breathing hard. Alvie hasn’t ever seen him upset before, and it’s certainly unsettling. 

 

“Ruben?” Alvie tries, but his friend doesn’t look up, and instead seems to shudder slightly at the sound of his own name. “Hey,” he breathes, reaching out to touch his arm in hopes to gain his attention. The touch is feather-light, much more gentle than Alvie usually is, but it’s still enough to set Ruben off.

 

Without a word, Ruben shakes the hand off and hurries to his bedroom, slamming the door shut. He slides down the length of it, breathing hitching as he  stifles sobs that just keep coming. He covers his face with both hands and begins to cry. 

 

“It’s  _ over _ ,” he whispers to himself in a shaky voice. “It’s over.”

 

But he knows it’s not over. It will never be over. Jason and Ian had him in one cage in Jamaica, and just because he has his own apartment doesn’t make it any less of another cage. It’s just bigger is all. 

 

“Ruben?” 

 

There’s a soft knock at the door, and then the doorknob shakes. Alvie’s attempting to open it and he can hear the concern in his voice, but it sounds like it’s coming from underwater. God, can’t he take a hint? He just needed a second. Or two. Enough to gather up the pieces of himself that were aching and paste them back into place, to put on a neutral expression like always and face the world. Face Alvie, more specifically.

 

Ruben isn’t sure how long he stays against the door like that. He’s been reteaching himself how time works. In Jamaica, time meant nothing. Days, weeks, months...they all just kind of blurred together. The only time Ruben knew was day (Jason) and night (Ian). 

 

When he finally opens the door, he finds Alvie sitting cross-legged on the loveseat reading one of the books from his backpack. He looks up at Ruben with feigned surprise, but he’s not fooling anyone. He’s been waiting for Ruben to come out.

 

“Hey, hi,” he says, closing the book and uncrossing legs. He gets to his feet after best, then quickly moves towards his friend. But Ruben shrinks back. “Did I do somethin’ wrong? You know, I really don’t gotta stay if you don’t want me to. It’s no biggie, remember? There’s no pressure.” He pauses, dark eyes heavy with concern. “Everything okay..?” 

 

“I don’t have any spare sheets or blankets,” Ruben says, which isn’t an answer to his question, and he feels a little mean for ignoring him, but he’s not sure what ‘okay’ is anymore. “I can lend you some pajama pants and a sweater.”

 

Alvie seems to relax a bit, his hand falling from where it had started to pull at his hair. He gives a crooked smile. 

 

“And socks?” he asks.

 

Ruben manages a half smile, something on one side of his face, kind of squished up to his nose. It isn’t forced, by any means, but it doesn’t meet his eyes, either.

 

“And socks,” he agrees.

 

Things seem to settle into a kind of normal after that, Ruben digging around in his dresser for spare pajamas and Alvie pretending to read his book, but he’s restless now. He goes to stand in Ruben’s doorway, who turns around and jumps.

 

“Sorry,” Alvie says suddenly, finally taking a few steps back, like there’s an invisible ‘do not cross line’ at the threshold of the bedroom and he definitely wasn’t allowed to pass. 

 

“No, no. It’s fine,” Ruben tries to reassure, guilt already building in his chest. He didn’t mean to make his friend feel like he had to walk on eggshells around him, nor feel like any of this had anything to do with him. But he didn’t say any of that. Instead, Ruben leads him into the bare bedroom and digs through a dresser drawer for a moment. He produces a large college sweatshirt, flannel pajama bottoms, and socks.

 

Alvie hums his thanks, rocking on his heels slightly as he looks over his new pajamas. It had been way too long since he slept in stuff this soft. He would be lying if he said he weren’t absolutely thrilled. “I used to have some socks with yellow and black stripes. Like a bee,” Alvie starts, already sitting on the edge of the bed to tug the fresh pair on his cold feet. “I hated those. But these are definitely an upgrade. Gotta admit, though, Ruben, I definitely didn’t peg you as a wacky, colorful socks kinda guy,” he grins, holding up his feet and giving his toes a wiggle. They fit nice. 

 

“Oh?” Ruben looks up, confusion vague in his expression as to what Alvie was talking about, but then he realized what socks he’d passed out. 

 

_ Oh. _

 

“Oh,” Ruben repeats again, clearing his throat slightly. His rainbow socks. “Yeah, uhm, my mother got them for me a couple of years ago,” he says quickly and then realizes it’s the first time he’s mentioned her to anyone since the night he was dropped off. 

 

“Your mom has good taste. I like ‘em. They’re crazy comfy, you know. Can’t believe you’re lettin’ me wear ‘em, if I’m being honest,” Alvie says with a big smile. Ruben just nods a bit jerkily and gestures to the only bathroom, tucked just inside of the bedroom. 

 

“Sorry for the mess,” he sighs heavily, mentally scolding himself for keeping his countertop in disarray. 

 

“What mess?” Alvie calls out from the bedroom, quickly catching up to Ruben and poking his head inside of the small space. “Aw, come on. That’s nothin’, man. You shoulda seen my place at my cousin's. She called me a hoarder, but I’m pretty sure that was just exaggeration. She just didn’t like all my cool stuff.” 

 

Ruben chuckles softly, shaking his head. How was he laughing already again? Even if it was just nonsense they were talking, Alvie always managed to make things feel...some semblance of normal. It was nice for a change.

 

To Be Continued...

 

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	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, thank you to those who are reading this fic. Tiredalwavs and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as we enjoy writing it. Ruben and Alvie are precious boys who deserve all the happiness. That's why we love to torment them (we really want them to be happy!)  
> Please remember that every kudos and comment is a punch to Jason/Ian's face.

**Chapter 3**

 

Alvie doesn’t push, but he knows Ruben has secrets. There’s always something a little bit off. Ruben can be up in the clouds one minute, laughing and sharing jokes, and down in the dirt the next, sitting on the floor gasping for air. In those moments, he always has a far away look, like he’s somewhere else. 

 

Alvie recognizes the look. He used to pretend he was far away, too, on nights when he was left alone with relatives he didn’t know, or even that first night he spent in a holding cell. En route to a psychiatric hospital, he would make himself as small as possible and think so  _ hard  _ about being  _ anywhere _ but where he was. These days, it’s nice that he doesn’t really have to. Alvie likes where he is. He’s happy. But why isn’t Ruben?

 

Ruben is soft-spoken with kind eyes that are dark and mild, but they hold an sharpened edge to them at the same time. It makes him look interesting. Mysterious. Alvie likes these things about Ruben, but he wants to know what he’s hiding. This would be a much easier sort of thing to broach in a group therapy session, but they weren’t patients and this wasn’t any hospital as far as Alvie could tell. On the outside of places like that, it was much harder to talk about the stuff that hurts, and he could tell something about Ruben was certainly hurting. Here, though, there weren’t rewards or soft smiles for sharing trauma. It was just sad, sad, and sad. And Alvie knows this, so he doesn’t press. Eventually, though, he figures Ruben will trust him enough to talk. But then again, Alvie isn’t exactly patient. 

 

“Mornin’!” Alvie says all too cheerfully given the early hour of morning, exiting the bathroom just as Ruben is sleepily going into it. It was strange at first, Alvie having to constantly knock and make sure it was okay to come in and go through the bedroom to get to the bathroom, but they both adjusted rather quickly and now he just comes and goes as needed without much question.

 

“Good morning,” Ruben murmurs, offering his friend-turned-roommate a weak smile. 

 

He likes Alvie, he really does, but he still has his guard up. He used to trust people. He used to believe people were inherently good, and while Alvie showed no sign of being anything but, Ruben was still being careful.” _ Friend _ ” was a very loose term in his mind.

 

Trust was just one more thing on the laundry list of things that Jason and Ian took from him.

 

“Man, you look tired. I thought you slept like twelve hours just then? Is everything cool? Want me to make coffee? ‘Cause I can figure it out if you don’t mind it maybe bein’ a little burnt and gross,” Alvie offers with a smile, but his bright eyes are rather quickly veiled with concern. Ruben doesn’t look interested in anything he has to say.

 

“Mhmm,” Ruben forces a more noticeable smile, and it looks just as fake as it feels.

 

Alvie clearly isn’t pleased with the response, but he promptly wedges himself between Ruben and the bathroom door to clear a pathway. Normally, Alvie is all over the place, flinging limbs and throwing himself around like a T-rex, but right now he’s being careful.

 

As he brushes past Ruben, Alvie’s makes a point not to let his body come into contact with him. It makes Ruben feel ashamed in a way. Alvie does just about everything in his power to avoid touching Ruben, and often his attempts to do so make him look like he’s avoiding the plague more than anything else. But, Ruben has to remind himself, Alvie knows him well enough now to know that Ruben  _ can’t  _ be touched. It’s nothing personal.

 

“All yours,” Alvie hums, padding back into the living room, making an effort to remain positive. “You know, I was thinking,” he starts talking again from the living room as he tugs on a fresh pair of socks. “We should expand our usual cereal and/or donut routine around here. Not that there’s nothin’ wrong with it, I just think maybe we could use a little variety. Shake things up. Whatcha think about breakfast tacos? Papas y huevo y queso y tocino? Doesn’t get better than that, right, Ruben? Let’s get breakfast tacos. It’s all I can think about right now. Whaddaya say, huh?”

 

Ruben hums something like affirmation, and that’s all that Alvie needs to whoop and excitedly retrieve his shoes from the entryway. In the meantime, though, Ruben needs to stick to his usual scalding hot shower to get ready to face the day. He scrubs his face and washes his hair, then dresses himself in the some variation of the khakis and sweater combo he often sports. But he reminds himself that really, cleaning up and getting all ready served no real purpose, given the bookstore is closed. Jan is in Connecticut visiting her in-laws, and while Ruben had offered to run the store, she politely declined and told him he needed to take a break, too. 

 

But— Ruben doesn’t know how to take a break. After days and weeks and months of sitting over the flimsy makeshift lab out in Jamaica, bleary eyes forced open, Ruben is not sure he’ll ever know how. 

 

He sighs and recalculates his plans for the day off, figuring getting breakfast with Alvie was at least a good start. Ruben finds him in the living room touching some of the plants, examining their leaves and criticizing how green they’ve gotten. Alvie enjoys watering them and turning them so they’re in direct sunlight. To him, it was nice to have this unspoken responsibility. He’s very gentle with Ruben’s potted plants, sometimes even goes so far as to give ‘em little pep talks in the form of rapping whenever the sun just isn’t breaking through the clouds enough. Ruben hears him mutter something about being “green with envy ‘cause they can’t drink soda, just water,” and finds himself actually stifling a small laugh. Just awake a few hours and Alvie was already beginning to make him feel better.

 

“So, um, breakfast tacos?” Ruben asks, his smile more genuine this time around.

 

\---------

 

The taqueria isn’t far from the apartment, and thankfully, Ruben and Alvie arrive before the morning rush. Alvie orders for them without hesitation, both because his Spanish is bit more fluent  _ and _ he likes to chit chat with the old ladies at the service counter. Ruben is content to watch the conversation with a faint smile of amusement as Alvie gesticulates and tells some story he already knows is over-exaggerated.

 

Once the two return to the apartment with brown paper bags of food in hand, Alvie suggests they eat outside in the courtyard at one of the little iron picnic tables. He unwraps his tacos from the warm aluminum foil distractedly, dark eyes fixated somewhere just above Ruben’s head. There’s a scraggly little tree there, and Alvie points as he takes a bite of his food. “Those doves? Or just gentrified pigeons?” 

 

Ruben snorts, shaking his head with amusement before he bothers to glance behind him. “Nope. Those are doves. But, technically,” he begins to explain after a sip of coffee, “they’re sort of the same thing. There’s 308 species of birds from the Columbidae family, and doves and pigeons are pretty much what we call any given one of those species. There's no difference between them in scientific nomenclature, but most names just categorize them by size or color.”

 

“So...they  _ are  _ doves _?”  _ Alvie asks with furrowed brows. Ruben nods and begins unwrapping his own food. “Mhmm. Doves.”

“I heard they mate for life,” Alvie says with a soft hum, chewing thoughtfully as he watched the two white birds work together to build a nest. They continuously land on the ground to collect twigs, bits of string, and leaves. 

 

“Maybe,” Ruben says with a soft shrug, because he’s not sure if that’s scientifically proven, but it’s a nice thought either way. He takes a long draw from his paper cup of coffee and looks up at the light blue shade of sky above them. It’s beautiful outside. No rain. Ruben realizes, then, that he’s actually, genuinely feeling happy. 

 

\------

 

Alvie is happy lately, too. It isn’t necessarily because he now has his very own couch to sleep on or access to a hot shower or socks and underwear fresh from the dryer, though those are all very nice things he's incredibly grateful to have these days. It’s because he has a  _ friend _ . Alvie’s good at making friends, sure, but they’re typically temporary. Ruben, however, seems different. 

 

They’re back to their routine and at the bookstore after Jan’s brief vacation, with Alvie settled at a table, humming as he flips through a book, and Ruben posted up by the front counter. 

 

The bookstore is nice for Ruben, he thinks. It’s calm and quiet and always smells like coffee and whatever wax melt Jan has chosen for the day. It’s relaxing, and Alvie’s there with him, so it’s beginning to not feel like work anymore. He doesn’t mind. “So...tonight,” Ruben says as he counts the money in the register. It’s nearing four o’clock and with the store closing at five-thirty, he’s already wrapping things up. “I was thinking of cooking salmon. You liked the salmon we had last week?”

 

Alvie looks up with a bright smile, all doe eyes and excitement. It’s not necessarily the salmon that has him worked up, though. He just half-expects that at any given moment, Ruben will finally have “the talk” with him about moving out. He knows that to some degree, he’s surely overstayed his welcome, and part of him is convinced Ruben’s too nice to admit it, so he helps out where he can. During the week he’s at the shop cleaning up and working with Jan to organize books, and on the weekend he’s taken upon himself to grocery shop, cook, clean...he even dusted the venetian blinds a few days ago and one of them snapped right off, but Ruben didn’t seem to mind. 

 

It was nice to know he that maybe his efforts are paying off. Ruben has yet to ask him to leave, and in fact, is still making future meal plans with him. That’s gotta be a good sign, right?

 

“Oh, yeah. It was great. I like how pinky it kinda looks? Like you wouldn’t think it tastes good, and especially with the lemon, but it really does. Can’t believe I never had it before. Usually just eat shrimp. That’s all the seafood I could handle as a kid, but then again, we were more of a beans and rice and chicken kinda family. You know what else I really liked that you cooked? That  _ pasta,  _ man. I’m not over it.”

 

“You mean...the fettuccine alfredo?” Ruben asks with a small laugh.

 

“ _ Yes!  _ The feta-whatever alfredo! That’s the stuff. Damn, that was good. You really gotta show me how to make it sometime, Ruben. I wanna make some for clinic one day. You ever had that stuff, Jan?”

 

“Fettuccine alfredo? Yes, I have,” Jan laughed a little.

 

Ruben smiles mostly to himself, but Alvie smiles back, watching him count money. 

 

\--------------

 

It’s like a roller coaster. That’s how Alvie’s always described it to doctors. The term ‘emotional roller coaster’ doesn’t even begin to cover it. All that means is something is hectic and full of turmoil. Alvie’s roller coaster is so much more. 

 

Alvie  _ is _ the roller coaster.

 

It starts off with this fast-paced, incredible high. It hits him like a ton of bricks, and sometimes like a slow burn, the fuse of a firework. He feels like he can do anything, because he realizes he  _ can.  _ What’s to stop him? Alvie is thrilled to be alive. He waters the plants a little too much (“ _ Alvie, you’ve already watered them twice today. Just let them be.”), _ he goes for hour long walks despite the time of day (“ _ Where have you been? I was worried.”) _ , and even snags twenty dollars from Ruben’s wallet to buy some decor to liven up his space (“ _ I appreciate the gesture, really, but we didn’t need a rug. The floor’s already carpeted.”)  _

 

Ruben seems a little worried, lately, but then again, so does Alvie. But Ruben worries that Alvie isn’t getting enough sleep, he worries that something is wrong. He’s slept hardly more than four hours as far as he’s aware of in the last three days. But Alvie worries that this feeling is coming to an end. There’s always this paranoia that accompanies his euphoria, especially when it begins to wane. After a two and a half weeks of teetering on the precipice of his inevitable fall, Alvie becomes terrified he’s not going to feel things this way again, so he gets that much more desperate to make use of his high. Alvie disappears in the middle of the night several times and comes back reeking of cigarettes and who knows what else. He laughs off Ruben’s concern, and while Ruben doesn’t know how to bring it up, he’s not stupid. There’s something very wrong here, but is it really his place to address it? Ruben has his own issues to concern himself with. 

 

One morning, though, it seems that Alvie’s worries were well justified. All energy is sapped from his body. He feels like there’s a hole in his chest, his mouth is dry. It’s the first big drop he had been desperate to evade. 

 

Rationally, Alvie knows that this is just a part of the cycle. He’ll be up at the top again, eventually, because he always is at some point or another, but  _ this _ part— the deep lull between two peaks and the inevitable, impossibly slow crawl back up — is a lot less fun. 

  
  


Alvie knows he’s finally dropped from his peak on his fourth week at Ruben’s place. He’s weighted like lead to the lumpy cushions of the couch. There’s a wide, vacant hole in his chest that makes everything feel so much  _ less _ than what it was just a day before.

 

“You’re not awake yet?” 

 

Alvie feels himself forcing to open his eyes as Ruben walks into the living room early on Saturday. He’s dressed with still-wet hair from the shower and bears his usual, long sleeved sweater, carefully tugging the sleeves down over his wrists. 

 

Alvie watches the nervous habit in silence, expression neutral. It usually makes him sad. Alvie’s seen his wrists. There’s discoloration from burns or something, but those aren’t the worst of his scars by far. He’s caught glimpses of Ruben’s arms, back, and stomach while they lifted heavy boxes or caught each other going in and out of the bathroom. There are so many worse marks on him. 

Someone hurt Ruben. Alvie knows this already, but this reminder makes him deeply sad in a way that causes his whole chest to tighten, his eyes to burn. He closes his eyes again, pulling the blanket over his head.

 

“Do you feel alright?” Ruben asks cautiously, but gently. 

 

Alvie says nothing because no, he doesn’t feel alright. That small part of him that is always worried about being kicked out at a moment’s notice, the part of him that’s scared Ruben secretly is annoyed by him,  _ hates  _ him, is  _ so  _ much louder. That’s why Ruben doesn’t tell him about what happened, how he got all those scars, Alvie figures. Ruben doesn’t want to share because he doesn’t want him around in the first place. Alvie, like always, but especially right now, is afraid he’s unwanted, but he lacks the energy to vocalize the feeling. Or anything, right now. He’s so  _ tired _ .

 

“Um...well, I was going to go down to the coffee shop. The one with the croissants you like? Would you like me to bring you something back?” Ruben’s voice is small and he’s talking fast. It’s clear he’s uncomfortable with Alvie’s sudden change in behavior. Maybe he’s mad.

 

Part of Alvie wants Ruben to stay with him on the couch and just keep talking to himself, but another, larger part is telling him that  _ this  _ is why Ruben doesn’t actually like him. He’s no fun to be around right now. He’s work. He’s a burden. 

 

Alvie’s tongue feels heavy in his mouth. He feels like crying.

 

Ruben waits a few more minutes for a response he’s never going to get, then  _ finally _ Alvie hears the front door of the apartment open, close, and lock from the outside. Alvie vaguely considers packing up his things and leaving, but he still can’t muster the energy to so much as pull the blankets up.

 

-——-

  
  


Ruben is worried. He smiles at the barista who hands him his coffee and croissant and finds a little table near the back where he can keep an eye on the door. He will never sit anywhere in a public place where he can’t see a quick exit. 

 

He sips from the warm paper cup and tears at his croissant, all the while pretending to read a book-- one that Alvie’s been following him around the apartment with begging him to read because it’s ‘like Star Trek, only better.’ But Ruben can’t focus right now. His mind is far away.

 

He worries that Alvie has taken something that’s severely messed with his brain, or worse that he’s addicted to something and this is the first time he’s without it. Maybe that’s why he’s always so talkative, Speed does that, he’s pretty sure. 

 

Alvie shows all the red flags of a drug addict, and Ruben isn’t exactly sure where he came from before he showed up behind the counter of the bookstore. He needs more answers, or maybe to be asking more questions, he decides. He lets out a heavy sigh as he mulls this all over, absently dog-earring a page of the book and flattening it out just to fold it over again. He _is_ a doctor after all-- he’s studied psychology as well as medicine. He’s well aware of the long complications attached to drug addiction. He knows that whatever Alvie’s case is, it’s sure to be a mess. Addictions are like that. Messy. It’s the last thing Ruben needs to handle right now, what with his own issues. He’s not even sure if he can handle Alvie. 

  
  


Except...it’s  _ Alvie _ . Ruben can’t imagine what might happen to him if he throws him back out on the street. And not necessarily because he fears for Alvie’s safety, but there’s this entire selfish need that considers what might happen to  _ him.  _ Ruben’s found this warm, cozy groove in his day to day routine with his roommate. He’s comforted by the sounds of Alvie loudly (thinking he’s quiet) coming into the bedroom to use the bathroom. He enjoys sitting at the small steel and glass table with someone to eat meals. He enjoys having company. He enjoys having  _ a friend.  _

 

Ruben lists off Alvie’s symptoms in his head. Lately, he’s been in and out of the apartment at odd hours. He’s cleaning everything, he’s talking near  _ constantly  _ and— this thought makes Ruben hurt a little—  he’s been stealing money from his wallet. He wasn’t stupid, he noticed these things. Ruben just didn’t know how to address them. He  _ still  _ doesn’t.

 

He needs a solution, and that hospital bracelet he picked up from their very first meeting seems the best place to start. At least now he has an excuse to pry. Something’s off, and maybe with Alvie’s full name and a doctor’s last, he could get somewhere. 

 

\------

 

After his contemplative breakfast (that didn’t actually involve much eating), Ruben decides to go on a grocery run in a last ditch effort to see if he could get Alvie to talk. He buys all of the ingredients to make fettuccine alfredo, Alvie’s latest favorite, and even goes so far as to pick up a carton of chocolate milk and some bite-sized cupcakes. Surely Alvie would want to talk over sweets. They were his favorite food group, after all.

 

But when he returns home, Ruben is discouraged all over again. The living room light is still off and Alvie is still on the couch, lying on his side, facing the wall. Ruben takes a deep breath and swallows hard, scrambling to find the right words to say. He was never much of an emotional support kind of person. Maybe emotional punching bag, but that was different. 

 

“I’m back,” he tries, lingering in the entryway and clearing his throat. When Alvie doesn’t answer, he moves to put the groceries on the table. “I got groceries. Uhm, not the usual, though. I got some things I thought you’d like?” Still no response. Alvie doesn’t even  _ move _ . “I grabbed some cupcakes...that Yoohoo stuff you get from the donut shop…” 

 

Ruben’s chest feels weighted with rocks. He’s frustrated he doesn’t know how to fix anything just yet. He’s frustrated that all of this junk food wasn’t the answer.

 

He’s worried. He’s  _ scared. _

 

_ Please just talk to me.  _

 

“Are you sick?” Ruben finally musters the courage to ask, to tackle the situation head on. He moves over to the couch, carefully sitting on the end, a small space from Alvie’s rainbow-socked feet. “Alvie? Come on, will you just look at me?”

 

Alvie hates this. He hates feeling so drained. He hates that Ruben is asking for him to move.

 

But he hates feeling guilty even more.

 

Alvie finally rolls over and sits up against the arm rest, still very much slumped into the cushions, but at least now his face is showing. His hair is sticking up in different directions and his eyes are swollen from crying. The usual spark of excitement in them is gone. They’re dark and dull looking. They’re so  _ empty,  _ it’s actually hard for Ruben to maintain eye contact.

 

“Hey,” Ruben says softly, but with more confidence this time. His heart aches at the sight of the most upbeat person he’d ever met looking so incredibly...absent, but he needs answers. He needs to help. “Let’s talk.” 

 

It takes a few long seconds, but Alvie eventually brings himself to look fully at him, but it’s like he’s looking  _ through _ Ruben. 

 

Ruben knows this look. 

 

Ruben feels his heart start to pick up in pace, and he tries to steady his breathing. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, memories are struggling to claw their way up to the present. He has a brief mental flash of Jason and Ian. They share a body, but they’re definitely not the same person. They always looked through him. 

  
But Alvie, he has to tell himself firmly, grounding himself in the moment, is not Jason or Ian. 

 

“Did you take something?” Ruben asks, his hands wrung tight in his lap. “Please, Alvie, just tell me. I won’t be angry. I can help you. I-”

 

He swallows again.

 

“I’m a doctor,” Ruben says finally, but Alvie doesn’t look at all surprised. He doesn’t even seem to acknowledge Ruben  _ talking _ . 

 

Ruben sighs shakily and feels defeated. He stands up and does the next best thing he can think to— to find out for himself what Alvie’s been taking. He lifts up the cushions in the small armchair next to the couch, searching for some hidden stash. He even rifles through Alvie’s own backpack, but Ruben keeps coming up short. He goes back to the sofa, his brows drawn together with worry, “Talk to me, Alvie,” he pleads. 

 

_ Please just talk to me _ .

 

Alvie isn’t looking back at Ruben anymore. It’s making him feel worse. He can’t take the disappointment, the worry, the stress. It’s too much. And it’s all his fault.

 

Alvie lays back down and covers his head with the blanket, desperate to drown out Ruben’s shaky exhales and wavering voice.

 

“Alvie, come on. I’m trying to help you.”

 

Alvie doesn’t move. He doesn’t say a word. So Ruben finally stands up and moves to put the groceries away, still thinking on how to fix all of this. 

 

That bracelet was his best bet.

 

Later, he decides, he’s just going to call. Nothing else is working.

 

\-----

 

_ Ruben is finally allowed to shower.  _

 

_ Ian doesn’t think about things like basic hygiene when it comes to him. He doesn’t get to use the bathroom sometimes.  _

 

_ Ruben is viewed as more machine than man, but Ian knows he’s still human. He denies these things to be cruel. He’ll hit him, sneering and telling him that he smells bad or his hair is greasy. That if only he could get his shit together and fix this already, he wouldn’t have to left in so pathetic a state.  _

 

_ But Ruben can’t take it. Timidly, he musters up the courage (it was it desperation?) to ask Jason shortly after his transition in the morning if he can shower. Jason says of course, his brows furrowing like he’s not sure why Ruben’s asking, like the windows and doors aren’t heavily locked and secured, like he doesn’t ask Ruben why he’s getting off of the barstool even if it’s just to stretch his cramped muscles.  _

 

_ When the water finally hits his skin, Ruben openly sobs in both pain and relief. The spray hits the fresh lash marks on his back and shoulders, it pounds against his bruised skin and rinses him clean of the grime he’s built up over the last few weeks. Or maybe it had been a whole month this time. Ruben wasn’t sure.  _

 

_ When he gets out, he swallows thickly at his reflection in the dirty mirror. He’s horrified, but he can’t let the shock hit him right now. It wouldn’t help anything. It would only make it worse. _

 

_ He’s more shades of purple and dark red than flesh-colored. His eyes are sunken in and one of them is still healing from the impact of a fist, all swollen and tender. Ruben lets out a slow breath of air and takes his time in the bathroom. He isn’t ready to leave, so he searches the cabinet and finds a razor. Ruben shaves his face, then looks down at the blades in consideration for a long moment. He thinks about he easy it would be to take the thin metal piece out and slash it down his wrists. It wouldn’t take him long to die, but— Ruben just puts the razor back where found it. He can’t bring himself to do it.  _

  
  


_ When he leaves the bathroom, he’s feeling better. Not by much, but being clean is something. Ruben had to appreciate the little things.  _

 

_ But Jason is waiting for him in the kitchen, irritation already pinching his expression. He’s holding up Ruben’s notes, immediately accosting him with how there’s nothing from the previous night, about how he shouldn’t be spending all his time dicking around in the bathroom. _

 

_ “Ruben, we have to get this done,” he says sternly, as if Ruben doesn’t already know this. _

 

_ Ruben opens his mouth to explain, to tell him about how he can never get anything done at night because he’s too busy getting tortured by Ian, but before the words can fall out, Jason snaps his fingers at him, quick and angry. _

 

_ “Don’t talk,” he says. “Just…” he throws his hands up in frustration. “Just work! Come on!” _

 

_ Jason paces for a moment, mumbling about how the  _ last  _ thing Ruben needed was to be shaving. It was the least of their concerns. Ruben walks slowly, but sits down on the barstool obediently.  _

 

_ When the door shuts and Jason’s voice is finally gone, though, Ruben pushes aside his paperwork and presses his face hard into his palms. If only Jason would actually listen to him. If only Jason  _ cared. 

 

_ “Please just talk to me,” he whispers, hot tears beginning to roll down his cheeks. _

 

\---------

 

Ruben makes dinner, but it’s all leftovers. He doesn’t feel like eating, and Alvie still hasn’t moved, so there was no point in even trying, so he goes to bed.

 

He can’t sleep, though. His chest is still that uncomfortable heavy as it was earlier, and all he can think about is Alvie and the hospital bracelet he’s turning over in his hand. Ruben opens up his nightstand and sets the thin plastic inside, deciding that maybe it was already too late to make a call like that anyways. Just one more day, and he could figure all of this out.

 

———-

 

Alvie feels numb. He clutches the blankets weakly around himself in an attempt to feel held together, but it doesn’t work. Nothing works, when he’s like this. It just takes time. 

 

He wonders how long this will last, or if this is finally the one that stays and becomes his forever. He’ll never feel happy again. He’ll never sing or dance or rap or read. He’ll never be Ruben’s pick-me-up throughout the day. He’ll be Ruben’s burden, like he is right now, and then one day, just like everyone else, he’ll get tired of trying to fix what can’t be fixed. 

 

Alvie can already see it all happening. Ruben politely explains that he needs to leave. He’ll pack all of his things up for him, pull him off of the couch, and ease him out the door as gently as possible, and once the lock latches behind him, Ruben will be flooded with relief. And Alvie will be alone.

 

He’s crying again. He  _ hates  _ crying, but he can’t help it. Ruben has done so much for him and  _ this  _ is all that he has to offer in return. Alvie thinks he needs to apologize.

 

Not just for this, but for everything. Any time he touched him without asking first, when he stayed up too late and kept Ruben up with him. When he took his money. When he didn’t come home. For being annoying. For being sad. For not explaining that this is normal for him, that this just takes time. 

 

He  _ needs  _ to apologize, if nothing else. He owes Ruben that much.

 

Alvie sits up slowly, his head pounding with the change in position. He rubs hard at his face and swallows back against the lump in his throat, then finally pushes his feet on the floor to stand. 

 

He takes careful steps, because the movement seems out of place when his body feels this numb. It’s like walking in a dream. Nothing quite feels real. Everything is far away. 

 

Alvie can’t bring himself to knock, so he just eases open Ruben’s bedroom door and hopes he won’t be upset by it. He stands in the doorway and looks down in shame. He’s a  _ terrible  _ friend. 

 

Ruben sits up promptly at the sound of his door creaking open, at first fearful, but his expression instantly softens when he sees who it is. He looks at Alvie and waits, concern heavy in his deep brown eyes, but Alvie doesn't say a word. He spares a glance up at Ruben and moves over to his bedside, and just when he opens his mouth to speak, a broken sound escapes him instead. He crumples over into the mattress, sobs racking his small frame.

 

There’s a bit of panic in Ruben’s features initially, just because he’s entirely caught off guard and doesn’t know what to say, but he quickly pulls Alvie into a sitting position on the edge of the bed as best he can. Ruben is breathing a bit unevenly. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Alvie says so quietly, Ruben’s not sure he spoke at all. But then Alvie says it again, more audible this time, but his voice still sounds small and unused. “I’m so sorry I’m sick.”

 

Ruben’s not exactly sure what to say, but he knows Alvie isn’t talking about a cold or a fever. He swallows thickly and hesitates, but then pulls Alvie against his chest and lets him cry there, tears dampening the soft fabric of his t-shirt.

 

It’s the first time in almost a year that he’s willingly touched anyone. The touch is nice, even if the situation isn’t.

 

They stay like that for as long as Alvie can manage, but eventually he begins to slump more heavily into Ruben, exhaustion taking over. Ruben shifts and eases his friend into the mattress, loosely tugging the duvet up to his shoulders. 

 

—-

 

The next morning, Alvie is still asleep like that. He hasn’t moved and inch, and his breath comes deep and even.  Ruben gets up carefully and opens up his nightstand drawer. He fishes out the hospital bracelet, glancing back at Alvie before he takes his leave to the living room for some privacy. Ruben pulls out his phone and dials a number. 

 

One ring.

 

Two rings.

 

“Manhattan Psychiatric Center,” a female voice says automatically. 

 

“Hi…” Ruben rubs the back of his head as he tries to keep his voice down. He stares at the hospital bracelet in his hand. “I’m calling to ask about a patient you had who’s now in my care. Juan Alvarez.”

 

“One moment,” the attendant says and after several minutes, another voice comes on the phone.

 

“This is Dr. Anna Koester,” she says. “You’re calling about Alvie?”

 

“Yeah…” Ruben walks over to the couch and slowly sinks into the cushions. 

 

To Be Continued...

 

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	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

 

Alvie doesn’t bounce back overnight, and not even over the course of several nights. 

 

Bipolar Disorder. SSRIs. Depressive episodes.  Manic Depression. Antipsychotics. Euphoric states.  Electroconvulsive therapy. He hears  _ all _ of this jargon from Dr. Pamela Beaseley, whose name and number was given to him by Dr. Koester. 

 

Dr. Beaseley is familiar with Alvie. He’s been in and out of Mayfield Psychiatric Hospital in New Jersey for years. She sounds kind, but stern, when she informs Ruben that the best thing he can do at this point is to call for someone to come and take Alvie to the nearest hospital for an evaluation, so ultimately they can transport him back to a psychiatric facility.  

 

Ruben thanks her for her time, but never agrees to take Alvie any place. He hangs up and moves to stand in the doorway of his bedroom, staring at Alvie, who is still in bed and facing the wall.

 

\------

 

Baby steps, Ruben decides, observing Alvie over the next few days. He doesn’t push or insist on anything, instead choosing to just sit beside him on the bed, to talk to him as if he weren’t practically catatonic. 

 

But slowly, eventually, Alvie begins to get up more and more. It’s only to do little things like get a glass of water or stand beside the couch while Ruben is watching television or reading a book, but it’s  _ something _ . 

 

After another week has passed, much to Ruben’s relief, Alvie begins to make conversation again. His voice sounds unused and raw, but there’s a spark of his old self under all the heaviness. He sits beside Ruben on the couch to watch a movie, but doesn’t offer his usual commentary. He takes a shower, but doesn’t exactly wash his hair. Ruben makes grilled cheese sandwiches and he eats one. It’s not a whole lot, but it’s progress.

 

Baby steps.   
  


\----   
  


It’s been another week, and it’s truthfully a wonder what proper hygiene and eating can do for a person’s attitude. Alvie’s nearly back to his old self, and Ruben hasn’t been happier to hear some of his rhymes than he is this morning. 

 

“Donuts, donuts,” Alvie raps under his breath, a small stack of pastry boxes layered across his arms as he walks into the bookstore, squeezing the heavy front door without catching it on one of the corners of his breakfast haul. “Make Ruben and Alvie go nuts!”

  
Jan is pleased to have her more talkative company back. She smiles at him from her place at the register

 

“And Miss Janice too,” Alvie finishes off with a cheeky grin, placing the boxes from the bakery onto the counter and lifting the lid like before her like she’s some contestant on a game show and  _ this  _ is her grand prize.

 

Jan can’t help but laugh. 

 

“You got maple, just for me?” she smiles, taking out her favorite flavor with a napkin in hand, forever careful not to make a mess.   
  


“Mhmm,” Alvie hums with a sense of self-satisfaction. He picks up his own favorite-- a glazed with Fruity Pebbles cereal sprinkled all over the top, staining the typically translucent icing nuclear colors of pink and yellow. Jan watches as the little pieces of cereal fall over the counter, to the floor, but she doesn’t mind today. Alvie’s smiling and back and that’s all that really matters.

 

But Jan couldn’t help but wince a little when he promptly drops the donut to the floor. “I’ll clean it up,” she’s quick to offer, but Alvie’s already crouched down. He pops back up with a crooked grin and shrugs. “I got it. Five second rule,” he says, taking a big bite.

 

Ruben walks up from the basement carrying a cardboard carton full of books, having just caught the tail end of that last statement. “Actually,” he starts to correct, but Alvie groans good-naturedly, having already been expecting Ruben’s scientific explanation on how he was wrong. After all, they’d definitely been over this one before. 

“ _ Actually _ nothin’,” Alvie says, taking another obscenely large bite before sucking the sugar from his fingertips. “I’f fuckin’  _ delicious,”  _ he insists from around the mouthful.   
  


Jan just shakes her head with amusement and says, “Thank you for that, Ruben.”

 

“What is  _ ‘that’ _ ?” Alvie asks, speech more clear now that he’s managed to swallow back the sugar-loaded bite. He nods at the box, brows furrowed.

 

“Books for storage,” Jan explains . “In about six months, it’ll all be put up and I can finally sell the shop.”

 

“ _ What _ ?” Alvie looks crushed. “Miss Janice, you can’t sell the shop! It’s-- It’s got  _ your name  _ out on the front sign! No one else can have this place, it just wouldn’t make any sense! I mean, unless  _ their  _ name was Janice and nicknamed Jan,  _ and  _ they wanted to sell books and pies and donuts but-- I think that’s kinda unlikely, right, Ruben? Also they still wouldn’t be  _ you,  _ you know what I mean? Besides, if you’re gone and this whole place closes down, where else am I gonna eat donuts and watch Ruben organize books, huh? We don’t even got a shelf at our place! I mean, Ruben’s place. That I stay at. But that’s not that point! You can’t just--”   
  


“It’s  _ okay _ ,” Ruben interrupts him quietly. He pilfers through the box of donuts and takes out a plain glazed, giving the pastry a small bite as he gestures loosely. “Jan’s ready to retire, Alvie. She has family out of state.”    
  


“So  _ boring _ ,” Alvie comments teasingly, watching with a faint grin as Ruben chews. But then he straightens up a bit with wide eyes. “Not you, or like, retirement or anything, Miss Janice, I just meant Ruben’s donut.  _ That’s  _ the boring stuff. Sorry.”   
  
Jan just offers him a warm smile of understanding, and Alvie visibly relaxes, but he still looks largely unhappy at the news. He takes another cereal sprinkled donut out for himself and hops up on the counter, legs swinging slightly as Ruben and Jan turn their attention to taping up the box. 

 

“Oh, that new Italian place opened up last week,” Jan says conversationally, following Ruben’s lead to keep the air cheerful and light. “I hear they have some of the best bread.”   
  


“The one around the corner?” Ruben asks curiously, though he doesn’t exactly sound invested in the idea. “Feels like it’s been under renovation forever now.”   
  


“I love bread. Garlic bread, toast, bagels, baguettes-- you name it. And you say they got the best? We should check it out, Ruben. Go in, eat all the complimentary stuff, then jet,” Alvie says with a wicked little grin, but at a glance from Jan, he drops the smile. “I was  _ kidding _ .” Okay, maybe he wasn’t, but she didn’t need to know that. 

 

Ruben doesn’t look up from what he’s doing, and pointedly neglects to make comment. Alvie opens his mouth to insist it ain’t a big deal if they don’t go at all, ‘cause they can find great bread somewhere else, but he closes it shut and settles into the silence for a moment. He can already read how uncomfortable Ruben is from just the suggestion. He feels bad, especially given he  _ knows _ how on edge Ruben is about being in places he’s not familiar with.    
  


“I’m sorry,” Alvie says finally, a breath of air escaping him, like he’d been holding it that entire time. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like--”   
  


“No,” Ruben cuts him off, feeling guilty himself for making Alvie feel like he had to apologize for his own reaction. He forces a small smile. Getting out of the house and away from the bookshop would be good for Alvie. It was another baby step, and probably one that he needed. “No. It’s, uh, it’s fine. Yeah, sounds good.”   
  


“What sounds good?” Alvie’s brows furrow slightly.   
  


“The new Italian place,” Ruben says. “You’re right. Maybe we should check it out.”

He smiles more genuinely this time, and so does Alvie.   
  
“Okay, yeah, cool. We can go and eat  _ all  _ the bread, Ruben. Put ‘em to the test. You see, last time I went to an Italian place, it was like, one of those chain ones. Olive Garden or somethin’, and let me tell you about their breadsticks…” Alvie rambles on, and Jan’s just giving Ruben this knowing look that he doesn’t quite know how to interpret. 

 

_ What?  _ Ruben thought. There’s nothing weird about two roommates going out to some fancy Italian place together. 

 

\----

  
  


Once the shop was closed for the day, Ruben kept circling with the thought of going out for dinner with Alvie. It was nerve racking to go out of his usual routine of home to bakery, to coffee shop next door, to book store, and back home again. It was new. It was different. But for Alvie’s sake, he worked himself up to the idea over the course of the next few days. 

 

Ruben decides to try new restaurant, Cafe Roma, on a warm Wednesday evening, more formally inviting Alvie out this time around. He was glad he waited.

 

With it being the middle of the week, they’d avoid the weekend crowd, and since it’s on their walk to work everyday, they can stop to peek inside and survey the layout the morning of. 

 

Ruben does just that, causing Alvie to pause with confusion, only to join in with his face smushed up to the glass. “Looks  _ fancy _ ,” he noted.

 

It’s small and decorated nicely. There are several tables that face the entrance, which Ruben finds perfect. He still won’t sit anywhere where he can’t see who’s coming in or out.

 

\----

 

After work and back at the apartment, Alvie’s growing increasingly frustrated. He doesn’t own a single ‘nice’ article of clothing. Everything is t-shirts, jeans, sweatpants, and hoodies. Anything nice he had was lost who knows when or where. A heavy sigh escapes him as he rifles through goes through his meager wardrobe, the few hangers pushed aside in the entryway closet. 

 

“Fuckin’ stupid shirt..” Alvie mutters, pushing aside one of his more wrinkly tees. “Can’t even iron it to make  _ that  _ look good,” he huffed. 

 

He feels bad. How can he be expected to go to a very special, rare, awesome, and bread-filled dinner with Ruben wearing a ratty old sweater with holes in the he’d chewed out to poke his thumbs through? 

 

Alvie pads into the living room and looks at himself in a decorative mirror on the wall— one that he’d bought on a whim for five dollars at a flea market. He touches his hair, looks at the deep circles under his eyes. Alvie decides he could stand to get a haircut, since his bangs are starting to cover his forehead in a way he doesn’t like. He doesn’t usually care about that, he realizes, or much at all if it has to do with his appearance.

 

But tonight it suddenly seems to matter.

 

Alvie counts the money’s he’s earned from Ruben from helping out at the store and— it’s not a lot, and  _ certainly _ not enough to buy something nice to wear. Or even a cheap haircut, for that matter.

 

\----

 

Alvie feels strange going through Ruben’s closet while he’s in the shower. It’s not like Ruben said he  _ couldn’t _ , but it’s not typically a location that bears an unspoken invitation either. He feels like he’s snooping, and, to be fair, he kinda is. 

 

There’s a good number of collared shirts and sweaters in there, a nice coat and several pairs of slacks. Alvie touches each different material, humming in consideration of what would look best on him. But it’s all very  _ Ruben  _ and not quite  _ Alvie.  _

 

Ruben’s closet doesn’t hold much else aside from clothes, but as Alvie continues pulling shirts from hangers just to slip them back on again, he spies something of interest. He squints up at a ratty backpack  in the upper corner of the shelf that stretches just over the clothing rack. It isn’t like Ruben to have something so dirty. Ruben likes clean and neat, not beat up and old.

 

Alvie quickly pokes his head out of the closet to make sure the water is still running in the bathroom, and then he stands on his tip toes and manages to tug down the light weight bag. “Weird,” he whispers aloud, unable to quite help himself. He unzips the backpack after a moment of looking it over, then just sits on the floor of the closet for ease of digging around. 

 

Much to his disappointment, there just seemed to be more clothes in there. He pulls out a few wrinkled navy t-shirts and khaki shorts. Now  _ that  _ was weird.

 

Ruben never wore anything that showed his skin.

 

Alvie sets the warmer weather wear aside and reaches in to unearth one  _ really  _ messed up sweater. There’s little rips and bigger ones, while a grey t-shirt tucked inside of it was just as damaged. But what was all the brown stuff? Alvie inspected the shirt closer and quickly recognized blood stains that clearly wouldn’t budge from the fabric. He dropped it instantly, a sick feeling settling in his stomach.

 

That uncomfortable trickle of fear was only exacerbated by a sudden buzzing coming from the backpack. Alvie hesitates, his heart pounding hard in his chest, but he does a little more digging and locates a cheap flip phone. It vibrates in his hand insistently, but he lets whatever call was coming through go straight to voicemail. Since when did Ruben have a cell phone?

 

Alvie eyes the open doorway of the closet uneasily, hesitating for a long few seconds before he works up the courage to turn his attention back to the phone. With both hands, he carefully opens up the screen, dark eyes narrowed as he notes there are several unread text messages. 

 

_ How’s my little buddy doing? _

 

_ Rubes, you staying out of trouble? _

 

_ I saw you walking on 96th street. _

 

_ Keep your head down. _

 

Alvie lets out a slow breath of air, not sure what to make of all of this. He glances at the name. 

 

Ian.

 

As he keeps flipping through the seemingly random, unreplied to texts, Alvie chews on the inside of his lower lip until he tastes blood and has reminds himself to stop the bad habit. But then he clicks a message with an attached media file, brows instantly furrowed and teeth back on the sore place in his mouth as a circle indicates the video is going to take its sweet time to load. Alvie glances at the doorway again. Ruben’s still showering. He has time.

 

A grainy, loud static-y sound starts from the phone and causes Alvie to nearly jump out of his skin. He sucks in a sharp breath and covers the speaker as best he can, feeling much like he should  _ really  _ just stop and put all of this away. 

 

But Alvie can’t look away from the video.

 

It’s Ruben, all pixelated but still recognizable. He’s sitting down with both of his hands zip-tied to the railing of some indistinct stairwell. He’s wearing that grey t-shirt and some sweatpants that don’t fit him right, and Alvie can see streaks of blood through the back of the thin cotton shirt. He’s cowering. He’s sunken. He’s sobbing quietly.

 

“You’re a pathetic little shit, you know that,” a man’s voice says. It sounds casual, like he’s talking about the weather, and sends a shiver down Alvie’s spine.

 

Ruben shifts slightly, and it’s obvious the position his hands are bound are causing his arms and body stress. He’s never seen something so inhumane.

 

“I hope your family sees this,” Ian says. “You know, when they find your body.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Ruben says in such a small, wavering voice. Alvie can feel his heart breaking, his eyes beginning to prick with tears. “Ian, I’m so sorry.”

 

Ian.

 

“For what?” the voice asks, still void of any emotion. “For keeping that you perfected the drug from me or...for just being  _ you _ ?”

 

Ruben says nothing, just makes another choking sound as he tries to hold back a sob. The camera gets really close to his face and he tries  _ so hard  _ to look away, but a hand grabs his chin roughly and forces him to look right at it. It’s like he’s looking right at Alvie, and there’s so much pain in his eyes. 

 

Alvie sniffles.

 

“You’re stuck with me now,” Ian, whoever he is, says. “And I think the first step in housebreaking you is to let you sit here for a couple of days just like this, so you can think twice before trying to hide shit from me again.”

 

Alvie flinches as Ruben is suddenly and sharply kicked, but before he really even has time to react, the video ends and the screen goes black. A large play icon glows where Ruben’s crumpled frame had just been.

  
Alvie feels like he can’t breathe. Like  _ he’s  _ the one who’s just taken a foot to his ribs.

 

He sits there for several seconds, holding the phone and trying to wrap his head around what he’s just seen, but rather quickly he’s brought back to reality. Alvie realizes the shower isn’t running anymore. 

 

“Alvie?” Ruben’s voice comes from the bedroom, confused and curious. “Are you in the closet?’

 

Alvie hurriedly shoves the phone into his pants pocket, shoves the clothes back in the backpack and just barely manages to zip it up before launching it back up on the shelf. He practically bursts from the closet, making Ruben jump, and wears a forced smile he hopes is convincing. “Yep! I was in there!” he announces the obvious.   
  
“Okay..” Ruben answers slowly, his hand still over his chest from being startled. “ _ Why?” _

 

“Oh-- uhm, yeah. About that. Look, I’m real sorry,” he says, on the verge of just spilling his guts about what he found in that backpack, but something tells him that now is not the time. Not when Ruben’s just worked up the courage to go out with him. Not tonight. He lets out a heavy breath of air and reaches up to tug at the grown out crop of his hair. “I was, uh, looking for something nice to wear for tonight, and I ain’t got anything, and you got  _ lots _ of button-y, goin’ out shirts, so I…”

  
  


Ruben blinks, and then he smiles a little. “You want to borrow something?”   
  
“Yeah. That.”

 

\-----

 

After a quick shower and a long few minutes of trying to get that image of Ruben bound to some stair railing out of his mind, Alvie manages to get dressed in the clothes that Ruben’s picked out for him. He looks back at himself in the bathroom mirror, a soft frowns on his features. He still doesn’t feel good, and certainly not about sorta-kinda-lying-to-Ruben thing he just did earlier. The least he can do is make tonight worth the outing. The  _ least  _ he can do is try and look nice.

 

Now, the slacks and belt were easy enough. The shirt was a bit oversized, which Alvie preferred, but the  _ tie? _  The tie he borrowed from Ruben hangs loose around his neck in an odd, lopsided loop. He tried and tried, but for the life of him, couldn’t figure out how to do a proper knot. With a huff, Alvie takes it off and sets it aside on the bathroom counter. It wasn’t going to work out.

 

So Alvie attempts to fix his hair instead. He wets both palms and attempts to smooth out his cowlick, along with the random tufts sticking straight up from his constant pulling. Good enough.

 

“Hey, are you almost ready in there?” Ruben asks with a light knock on the door. He never bangs or yells. He’s so gentle and quiet. 

 

How could this Ian guy possibly be okay with hurting him?

 

“Uhm, yeah, I think so!” Alvie calls back out, giving one last glance in the mirror before he swings the door open. He smiles at Ruben. “I’m ready. And starving. Are we takin’ a cab?”

 

“We can walk,” Ruben answers distractedly, peering at the counter just behind him. “You didn’t want to wear the tie?” 

 

“Oh, uhm, yeah, but…” Alvie looks embarrassed, instinctively reaching up to grip at his hair, then groans with frustration for doing that. So much for making it look nice. 

 

But Ruben’s just looking back at him with a soft, warm sort of smile that makes Alvie relax some.

 

“Here,” he moves past Alvie, careful not to touch him, and takes the tie from beside the sink.

 

Alvie straightens up and stands perfectly still, unable to help but wear the same sort of grin as Ruben loops  it around his neck and with nimble fingers, knots it properly. He takes a step back, admiring his work. 

 

“You look nice,”  Ruben says sincerely, but then he’s looking away and rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

 

“Thanks. You too, you know? But then again, you always look nice, so,” Alvie says with a half-hearted shrug, unsure of why he’s suddenly feeling something like shyness right now. He was fairly convinced there wasn’t a shy bone in his body, but Ruben had him questioning that.

 

The two of them stand there for several seconds in a weird, tense silence, but then Ruben clears his throat and asks, “Uh, so...should we get going?”

 

“Yeah, probably,” Alvie nods with a soft laugh, “If we wanna get there while the bread’s still fresh, anyways.”

 

\------

 

The restaurant is a little too dark for Ruben’s taste, especially since it’s already night. They wait a little longer for the table in the back that Ruben spotted earlier that morning, the one with a good vantage point of the door and tucked somewhat out of sight from the other patrons. There’s a candle that sits on clean white table cloth between them, which thankfully, makes the whole thing a little less frightening. Not because of the extra light,  but because fire can be used as a weapon if for some reason Ruben couldn’t get a hold of his steak knife.

 

As the browse the menu, Alvie talks even more than usual while chomping down on the free bread that comes with a little saucer of oil for dipping. He’s not sure if it’s because he’s nervous about being at such an upscale restaurant, or because of all of the other events of the evening. But he’s trying to play it cool. And Ruben’s always a great listener-- even if he’s not really paying much attention to what he’s saying.

 

“So Miss Jan’s really gonna close the place, huh?” 

 

Ruben definitely hears that. 

 

“Well, I didn’t plan on working there forever,” he admits with a small shrug of his shoulders, then reaches for a piece of bread for himself. “The money is good, but it hardly covers the rent.”

 

Alvie breaks eye contact and takes a sip of his water, his free hand drumming on the tabletop. Ruben can tell something’s on his mind, but he waits patiently for Alvie to bring it up himself. He always does, at some point or another.

 

“You know, Ruben...uhm, I’ve actually been meanin’ to ask you about that,” Alvie says, pretending to be interested in the people sitting at the table next to them. “How  _ do _ you pay the rent? I mean, ‘cause I know your place ain’t big, but it’s nice, and when I was tryin’ to find a place out here, nothin’ was under a grand or two. And that’s a lot a lot. You know? I was thinking I could get a job. I could help out and--”

 

Ruben’s already shaking his head when he interrupts Alvie. “It’s really okay,” he insists, neatly trying to dodge the  _ actual _ question at hand.

 

“Okay, but-- like, how much is the rent? ‘Cause I don’t really know what Jan pays you, and surely it’s not enough to live there  _ and  _ buy me donuts all the dang time. You know?”

 

“ _ Alvie,  _ I said it’s  _ okay.” _ _   
_ __   
“But what are we gonna do when the store gets sold away?”   
  
“We’ll figure it out.”   
  
Alvie purses his lips and pushes his small plate of bread back slightly, clearly not sated with Ruben’s answers. So he changes the subject.

 

“Have you always lived in Manhattan?” Alvie asks suddenly.

 

“What?” Ruben asks, feeling much like he’s swallowed a large gulp of ice water too fast, even though he hasn’t so much as touched his glass.

 

“I asked if you always lived here, like-- in Manhattan.”

 

“No…” Ruben says, his voice a bit softer as he, too, averts his gaze. “I’ve been here for less than a year.”

 

“Wanted to get away, huh?” Alvie’s pushing him to mention Ian, and he’s  _ trying  _ to make it casual, but he can practically  _ see  _ Ruben boarding up walls. Alvie feels the phone burning in the back pocket of his slacks. He thinks of the short, grainy video, the casual voice of whatever sick fuck had Ruben tied up and beaten. He’s gotta be the one who put all those marks on him, those scars he just barely glimpses when Ruben doesn’t mean for them to show.  _ He’s _ gotta be the one who gives him nightmares almost every night. 

 

Alvie’s looking right back at Ruben, his ears ringing with the sound of him gasping, stifling sobs, mumbling desperate apologies. He can’t  _ take it,  _ anymore.  All concern about having a nice dinner were long gone. He needs answers. He  _ needs  _ for them to talk about this.

 

“Alvie-”

 

“Who’s Ian?” the question tumbles out of Alvie’s mouth before he can even think to stop it, to reconsider what he’s asking his roommate to talk about right now. In public. Over some candlelit dinner. 

 

Ruben swallows thickly, visibly recoiling at the name. He hands start to twist, and he’s just shaking his head. “I don’t-- I don’t know what you’re talking about, Alvie,” he says, looking anywhere but at Alvie, taking a few shaky, deliberate breaths. 

 

Alvie  _ knows _ he should drop it. He’s only making Ruben a nervous wreck, but impulse control was hardly one of his qualities, and he  _ needed  _ to know. Alvie haded blanks, and that video had left him with one to many that only Ruben could fill in. 

 

“Ruben,  _ who’s Ian _ ?”

 

“Alvie,  _ stop _ ,” Ruben says, but not sharply, more like he’s pleading.He looks up and there’s so much hurt in his dark eyes that Alvie feels physically sick.  He drops it, then, unable to bear causing that expression to be written on the other’s face.

 

“Okay,” Alvie breathes, finally looking away again as he drums his fingers against his thighs, slumped down in the booth.

 

\------ 

 

It’s obvious that Ruben has shut down for the night, and Alvie doesn’t blame him. He shouldn’t have pushed like that, and not  _ here  _ of all places, when Ruben was already forced from his comfort zone. Alvie feels like some weird combination of crying and puking and wanting to hurt himself, but he keeps it inside for the time being. His reaction would only make Ruben feel worse. That’s the last thing he wants, after already ruining their evening. After ruining  _ everything.  _

 

So Alvie flags their server over and Ruben pays without a word. They leave the restaurant and walk back to the apartment. Ruben’s hands are jammed deep in his pockets and he looks light years away in thought, while Alvie only spares a look up from the concrete just in front of him once or twice. There’s several times Alvie opens his mouth in attempt to mend the damage he’d done, but how could he fix something when he didn’t know how it broke in the first place and all he did was make the pain that much worse? 

 

Guilt mixes with shallow anger-anger towards Ian, but he also finds himself a little angry toward Ruben for not trusting him enough to share his past. But somewhere in the back of his mind, Alvie knows he’s got no reason to be upset with him, but this whole situation has his emotions wreaking havoc on the inside. He feels a lot, and at once. 

 

It scares him that Ruben looks like he feels nothing.

 

\-----

 

“Do you need the bathroom?” Ruben asks when they enter the apartment, his voice something hollow that makes Alvie feel like he’s swallowed rocks, weighted with guilt.

 

The message is clear. Ruben wants to shut himself up in his room for the rest of the night and be alone, so Alvie nods and goes into the bathroom to pee, brush his teeth, and change into a t-shirt and sweatpants. But when he’s done and ready for bed, he sits down on the edge of the tub instead of leaving Ruben to his solitude. Alvie pulls hard at his hair, digs blunt fingernails into his scalp. He wants to make things right with Ruben, but  _ how?  _

 

Alvie still  _ needs _ to know who Ian is, and why on earth Ruben had gone through what he saw in that video. 

 

He needs to know what Ruben’s running from, if he’s planning on running with him. 

 

Eventually, though, Alvie pulls himself up off the cold ceramic of the tub and steps out of the bathroom. 

 

“I’ll... see you in the morning,” he says quietly, but Ruben can’t hear him. He’s already on his bed and in his night clothes, earbuds in as he’s about to drown out his thoughts with a podcast. He glances back at Alvie, but doesn’t say anything.

 

Alvie knows he just wants him to leave, so he does. 

 

\----

 

Alvie tosses his borrowed clothing onto the couch and sinks into the cushions with a heavy sigh, his hand already snaking into his hair to start pulling again, as if tugging on the roots would make his brain come up with some perfect solution. But as he’s working through potential scenarios and hypothetical conversations, a loud buzz interrupts his thoughts. 

 

_ The phone. _

 

Alvie rifles through his used clothing and locates the outdated pay phone, heart pounding hard against his sternum. He’s nearly shaking, but somehow he manages to slip out onto the balcony without a sound, the door latching quietly behind him. 

 

He flips open the phone and presses the receiver to his ear.

 

“Ruby Tuesday! How are you, Buddy?”

 

Alvie feels goosebumps rise to his skin. Flashes of the grainy cell phone video footage pull at the forefront of his mind, and he recognizes the voice instantly, even if it is sickly sweet, shrouded in fake cheerfulness.

 

“Ian,” he says, more to himself than the man on the phone.

 

“Yeah.” The friendly facade has dropped now. “Who the hell is this?”

 

“This is none of your fuckin’ business, speaking, and-- and I don’t know  _ who  _ the  _ fuck _ you are, or what you got to do with Ruben, but-- starting now, right this very moment, you’re gonna fuck off. You’re gonna leave Ruben alone and out of whatever twisted shit you’re into, okay? You got that?” Alvie swallows, his hands trembling. “I-I’ve seen that shit you sent him. And I’ll show it to the cops if I have to. So  _ fuck off  _ and don’t  _ ever  _ call this number again.” He snaps the phone shut, his breath coming in short, shaky gasps. 

 

It takes him a moment to look away from the phone he’s holding in his hands, but eventually Alvie brings himself to go back inside. But as soon as the door is closed behind him, he freezes.

  
Ruben is standing in the living room, clearly still upset. Alvie opens his mouth, mentally comes up a with a million excuses as to why he was outside at night, because he  _ knows _ Ruben is very peculiar about them being inside with the doors locked after dark, but before he can start to round off any of them and explain it away, he watches Ruben’s gaze drop to his hand, the burner phone still tight in his grip.

 

                                                                                                                              To Be Continued...


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the wonderful feedback! We are trying to answer comments, we promise! Please continue to shoot us ideas and what not. Chapter 6 is practically already written so it's not far behind!

**Chapter 5**

 

Ruben and Alvie stare back at each other, both equally in their own states of shock. The silence is deafening, the tension palpable, and Alvie feels like he’s going to  _ explode  _ if Ruben doesn’t just  _ say something--  _  but then he jerks the phone out of Alvie’s hand like he’s some babbling toddler holding a firearm. 

 

“Where did you get this?” he demands roughly, his voice cracking.

 

“The uhm, the closet. I-I didn’t mean to do anything wrong, I wasn’t stealing it, I was just trying--” Alvie tries in vain to explain himself, but he closes his mouth when he realizes that Ruben’s not listening. His breathing is uneven. He’s whispering ‘fuck’ under his breath like a broken record.   
  
Alvie’s eyes follow him around the small living room as he begins to pace. He finds the courage to speak up again. There’s not much of it, but he manages to say in a voice he hopes sounds braver than he feels, “I won’t let him hurt you again.”

 

Ruben stops in his tracks and looks back at his roommate, and Alvie’s quick to note there’s something off in his gaze. It’s something...distant, hollowed out. It’s something very not Ruben, and Alvie feels sick. Ruben breaks the eye contact first and sits down on the sofa, tapping the phone against his temple, chewing on his bottom lip so hard that it turns white. 

 

“Ruben,” Alvie dares to sit next to him, though he’s careful to leave a space between them both. He knows he’s royally fucked up, that he’s crossed a line, but he’s desperate to make sure that Ruben knows his intention was never to make things worse. He just wanted to help. He just wanted to keep Ruben safe. “Ruben, I--”

 

“Hold on,” Ruben interrupts him and promptly gets to his feet, quickly disappearing into his bedroom. He’s in there for so long that Alvie feels like crying. He’s bouncing his knee and pulling at his hair, wondering if his friend will come back out, if he should go check on him, or if anything he could possibly think to do would only exacerbate the situation. Probably the latter. So he stays put.

 

And who knows? Maybe they aren’t friends anymore at all. Maybe Ruben’s ready for him to leave and he’s just trying to find the right words to say to him, but when he comes back out, he just looks shaky and upset. There’s no anger in his expression. Alvie feels like he can breathe a bit better and mentally forces himself to quick fidgeting.

 

Ruben’s holding something in both of his hands, fingers trembling lightly as he holds it out to him without saying a word. Alvie takes the paper and carefully unfolds it. It’s a glossy, crumpled sheet with white-worn edges from it being folded and opened time and time again, but it’s still legible.

 

It’s part of a magazine article, he realizes.

 

_ Two Philadelphia Doctors Still Missing.  _

Beneath the bolded title, in smaller font:  _ Authorities fear the worst. _

 

Alvie has to squint to read the small, faded print of the news story, but words like ‘drugs’, ‘unstable’,’missing’, ‘Jamaica’ and ‘possible suicide’ jump out at him. The text wraps around a picture of Ruben in a lab coat with an awkward haircut and dorky grin, surrounded by others in matching work attire. Alvie could almost be convinced this wasn’t the same man as the one before him, because Ruben’s never looked quite this carefree. But next to it is a seperate photo of someone else holding a shiny award, also smiling, but there’s something in his expression that Alvie doesn’t like. Maybe that’s because he’s already pieced together who this is. 

 

“Is this…Ian?” Alvie looks up at Ruben, brows furrowed and dark eyes heavy with confusion, concern.

 

“Jason,” Ruben corrects quietly. “It’s-- a long story.”

 

“He’s got two names?” Alvie asks, standing up from the couch to follow Ruben as he moves to the kitchen to start fumbling with a can of Folgers, picking up the carafe to fill with water. He doesn’t answer.   
  
Alvie can’t exactly hold his tongue anymore, questions spilling over and out of his mouth in rapid fire. “Do-- Do the police know that you’re alive? That you’re okay, Ruben? What about-- your mom? You said you had a mom, right? What about her? Does she know what happened? Is-- Is this about the drug thing or whatever? And who’s Jason? I thought-- well, your phone says that this asshole’s name is Ian. Who’s Jason? Is he--”

 

“FUCK!” Ruben shouts as the half-full coffee pot hits the cold kitchen tile, the glass shattering the moment it makes contact. Glass splays out around them and Alvie’s frozen in place. His eyes are wide as he watches Ruben crumple over onto the counter. His shoulders shake like he’s sobbing, but there’s not a sound that escapes him. 

 

“Lemme help,” Alvie says in a quiet, small voice. He steps around shards of glass to guide Ruben around the mess, hands gentle but firm on his shoulders. For a moment he wonders if he should’ve asked for permission to touch him like this, but Ruben doesn’t even seem like he’s here right now. “Come on, I-I got you.”

 

Alvie sinks back onto the couch, and Ruben’s got tears running down his cheeks at an alarming rate.  Like a water balloon being pricked. It’s obvious that he can’t get a hold of himself, but that to some degree, he’s still holding a lot back.

 

“I got you,” Alvie repeats softly, hesitating for only a moment before he just pulls Ruben into his arms, his head tucked just beneath his chin. Alvie’s racing heartbeat is probably audible at this point-- he’s so terrified that he’s doing the wrong thing right now, but he has to do  _ something _ , doesn’t he? What kind of friend would he be if he didn’t? So Alvie lowers his head, murmuring soft reassurances into Ruben’s thick, dark hair.

 

Briefly, he feels selfish for wishing he could touch Ruben like this when he  _ wasn’t  _ in the middle of a breakdown, but he lets that thought subside and tries to focus on breathing slowly, deeply like the doctors used to tell him to do in rather tense group therapy sessions.

 

They stay that way for what seems like forever to Alvie, but eventually Ruben shifts to sit up, puts himself back together and tries to talk. It comes out as a choked, shuddering, sound, and no words really form, but he clears his throat and tries again. 

 

“He hurt me,” Ruben finally gets out, and Alvie already knows this, but his heart still feels like it’s breaking. 

 

He’s  _ seen _ tip-toey nervous Ruben. He’s heard him wake up in the middle of the night gasping for air like he’s been deprived, whimpering, and sometimes even weeping. Even in that video, Ruben didn’t look so broken and afraid than he is right now. 

 

No, Alvie thinks, broken isn’t the right word. He refuses to believe Ian  _ broke _ him. 

 

“I know,” Alvie breathes, more to fill the silence than anything else as Ruben struggles to find his voice again. He gets up from the couch and, stepping around broken glass, retrieves him a glass of cool water from the fridge. When he comes back into the dim light of the living room, he hands it to Ruben, who tries to hold it, but his hands are shaking are too hard. Alvie frowns, but he helps him by stabling the cup with one of his own hands, coaxes him to take a drink. It seems to help.

 

Once Alvie’s set the cup aside on the coffee table, Ruben manages a single, choked laugh.

 

“I’m pathetic, right?” he asks, like it’s a joke, but he’s looking away, still aware of Alvie’s big, sad eyes in his peripheral. 

 

“No,” Alvie says softly, shaking his head. “You’re-- You’re awesome, Ruben.”

 

Ruben snorts, but it’s not his usual, holding back laughter sound. It’s much more bitter than that. “‘m not awesome,” he mutters, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, but there’s an the faintest hint of smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It’s more amused than happy, but Alvie’ll take what he can get. 

 

“Uhm, yeah, you are,” Alvie insists, like it’s preposterous that Ruben could think anything less. “Look, Ruben. You know _all_ the best _books_ and _science_ _stuff_ and you make _the best_ coffee... _And,_ get this: you’re like-- the only person who’s ever put up with me bein’ around this long. So, I mean, that’s gotta count for something, don’t it?”

 

After a moment, and almost shyly, he adds: “Ruben, if it weren’t for you and how stupid  _ awesome _ you are, I’d be out on the streets with wet socks still, you know that? You’re the nicest guy I ever met in my whole life. And I’m like, 24, I think. So that’s a lotta years to meet someone as nice and awesome as you-- but I never did. Prob’ly never will.” 

 

Ruben’s just looking down, and Alvie gives up trying to convince him of the fact for the time being. Instead, he picks up the crumpled article clipping from the spot in between them and attempts to read it again. 

 

“‘Dr. Ruben Marcado’,” he reads aloud, but mostly to himself. Ruben nods solemnly. He doesn’t feel like the person who fits that name, anymore. 

“Uhm...and the other guy,” Alvie starts again, looking back at Ruben hesitantly, like he’s afraid to ask.

 

“Jason,” Ruben fills in, his voice even and quiet. He reaches out to take another sip of the water, then lets out a slow breath of air. “Do you...Do you remember when you were skimming through Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Alvie?” 

 

Alvie nods, brows furrowed. “Yeah, that story was nutso. Not very good, in my opinion, but then again, I’m not exactly the person to be askin’ for book reviews, you know? I just skim ‘em, like you said.”

 

“It’s-- not as ‘nutso’ as you think,” Ruben says with something like a laugh.

 

\-----

 

Ruben finally tells Alvie all about Jason Cole and Ian Price, and the confusing person, or people that the both of them were. He tells him about Blackout. He tells him about Jamaica.  But only with details he thinks Alvie can handle. 

 

Alvie listens and never pushes. He only asks questions when he feels it’s necessary, and struggles to ignore the knot in his chest every time Ruben talks about Jason, who he secretly wonders if he hates more than Ian.

 

But-- this doesn’t happen all in one night. Instead, Ruben tells the convoluted story of his past over the course of several nights, almost a week. It’s hard.There’s a lot of tears and moments where he has to take a break, but with each conversation, Ruben feels a relief he swears he’s never felt before. It’s like a weight lifted off his chest, to be able to share all of this with someone. To be able to share it with Alvie. 

 

And each time they talk about it, Alvie feels a sense of relief himself. He’s glad that Ruben’s talking. His doctors always stressed the importance of not bottling feelings, of sharing and unpacking trauma. And as difficult as it is to hear sometimes, he thinks it’s worth it. Alvie feels closer to Ruben than he has with anyone else in his life. He’s proud of him for surviving Jamaica. For still being able to laugh some days, and manage a smile through the rest.  He tells him so, and probably too frequently, but Alvie can’t seem to help it. His heart feels airy every time they’re standing side by side clearing dishes from the table at home, or organizing books at the store. It’s just so,  _ so  _ nice to have a friend like this, and to have one as truly remarkable as Ruben. 

  
  


\-----

  
  


“So, you, uh...you really admired this guy, huh?” Alvie asks as they pack more books into boxes one rainy afternoon. He refuses to say ‘crushed on,’ because that feels weird given the context of all that this Jason/Ian dude had done to him, but it’s truthfully a more appropriate term with the way Ruben describes it. 

 

“I was obsessed,” he agrees with a tired sigh, like he’s disappointed in himself just being reminded of the fact. “I stopped going out with friends. I stopped visiting my family. I missed my little sister’s  _ art competition _ . Everything. And all because I was convinced that what Jason needed was more important.”

 

“To who?” Alvie asks, brows furrowed.

 

Ruben just shrugs. “Whatever was important to him was important to me,” he explains, looking away as he brushed off dust from one of the more worn titles. “I felt...needed, I guess. I was so happy to be the only person in on his secret. At least-- for awhile.”

 

Alvie’s watching him carefully, and he seems to space out for a long few seconds. He’s about to speak up to break the silence and change the subject, but before he can, Ruben’s already doing just that.

 

“So...uh...how about we watch a movie tonight?”

 

It’s his usual way of ending these kinds of conversations, and Alvie nods softly in agreement. He doesn’t say it, but he really does want to know every single gritty detail. He knows that sharing even the worst parts of all that happened will help Ruben heal, but...memories like that are dull knives you can’t quite pull out of your stomach. They hurt, they ache, but it would feel so much worse to try and do anything but let them sit. Alvie has memories like that, too, and for a moment, he wonders if that makes him a hypocrite. He’s never talked about his own past.

 

“Yeah,” Alvie says, forcing himself to give Ruben one of his usual, lopsided smiles as he pushes that concern back from the forefront of his mind. “Sounds good.”

  
  


\------

 

Ruben falls asleep on the couch as they’re watching some Fast and the Furious movie that he doesn’t really care for, but Alvie’s hooked. At least, that is, until Ruben’s head starts to tilt onto his shoulder. Alvie’s never known Ruben to fall asleep  _ anywhere _ except his own bed, with the door closed, lights off, and a podcast in his ears, so it’s definitely a surprise, but-- it’s nice. He sits perfectly still, careful to not wiggle or bounce his leg the way he normally would.

 

After what feels like much too long to be this motionless, Alvie caves and very gingerly, he raises a hand to comb through Ruben’s hair. He’s cautious, ready to snap his hand back at the slightest sign of Ruben’s discomfort, but when he doesn’t stir, and instead actually nuzzles into the touch, Alvie continues to do it, a faint smile playing across his lips. His gaze returns to the television screen, but he’s not really paying attention to the movie anymore. Alvie’s thoughts are far away, focused on Ruben and his past. Ruben and his future. Ruben and his future with  _ him _ . 

 

\--------

 

Over the course of the next few weeks, Alvie has a weird feeling in his gut. It makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He gets it every now and then. Sometimes at home. Sometimes at the bookstore. Sometimes at the place where they get coffee. He feels like someone’s  _ watching  _ him, but chalks up the sensation to paranoia after hearing the details of Jamaica, after reading the texts on Ruben’s phone. He had half a mind to just express this to his friend, in search of reassurance, maybe comfort-- but he doesn’t. Alvie doesn’t like to call attention to feelings like this, because he’s well aware that sometimes it’s these sorts of things that landed people right back in psychiatric hospitals. 

 

“Alvie?” Jan asks as she lifts a stack of books from the bargain bin and sets them to the side, her thin brows knitted with concern. “Are you okay?”

 

He looks away from the window he’s been staring out at and blinks, like he’s definitely not been present up until this moment. “Huh?”

 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Jan says, her worry more clear now in the way it creased small lines across her forehead.

 

But Alvie hasn’t seen a ghost. It’s more like he  _ felt _ one. Is this how Ruben feels all of the time? Like he’s constantly being watched?  _ Are  _ they constantly being watched? What if Ian was  _ here  _ already and he just didn’t even know it?

 

“Where’s Ruben?” Alvie asks suddenly, ignoring Jan’s troubled look altogether as panic veiled in his own.

 

“He’s...He went down to the basement to go get--” she starts to answer, but Alvie’s already running in the direction of the stairs, leaving her to wonder what had gotten into him. 

 

A million, horrifying scenarios run through Alvie’s mind in those few seconds. He can’t shake the grainy visual of Ruben tied to the stairwell out of his head. He hears Ian’s casual tone as Ruben struggles to hold his weight so he won’t be in any more pain than he already is. He remembers Ruben looking right at that camera--

 

“Alvie?”

 

He bumps into Ruben, literally, who drops an entire cardboard carton of books. Ruben just laughs a little and bends down to pick them up, though his brows are furrowed slightly. “Are you okay?” he asks as he stands back up with the box. It’s only now that he’s realized Alvie hasn’t even said a word yet. 

 

“What’s wrong?” Ruben asks again, more seriously this time.

 

“Nothing,” Alvie finally responds, one hand coming up to tug at his hair. “I-- I’m sorry. I thought I heard somethin’ down here. Like-- I don’t know. A rat or a possum or something. Maybe an armadillo.”

 

“In Manhattan?” Ruben smiles a little, raising a brow. 

 

Alvie forces a soft laugh, suddenly feeling ridiculous. “Sorry,” he says, because that was much easier than explaining ‘I thought Ian might be lurking down there waiting to take you away again.’

 

\-----

 

Ruben doesn’t like it, and Alvie is  _ trying _ to quit, he really is, but he goes outside to smoke later that night. It’s not a habit he indulges in as often anymore, and he actually hasn’t had a cigarette in over three weeks, but after his weird, anxious day at the bookstore, his nerves are shot and all he wants is a bit of nicotine to kick his seemingly unfounded apprehension.

 

It’s late evening, and it’ll be dark soon, so Alvie takes a deep, long drag from where he sits out on the curb in front of Ruben’s apartment building, watching as the smoke trails lazily up to the dim, purple sky. He has to make it quick, and he promised Ruben that he would, because once the street lights came on, that’s when Ruben went into lock up mode. It wasn’t safe outside after dark, he had said, and now, Alvie understood why. Nothing felt exactly safe, anymore, knowing people like Ian existed.

 

After taking the last puff, Alvie gets up and grounds the soft glow of embers into the pavement beneath his shoe, but he freezes momentarily in the action as he hears heavy footsteps coming up behind him. When he turns around, his heart nearly stops. 

 

“Hi.”

 

Alvie recognizes the face from the magazine clipping and the voice from the video. His heart is throbbing hard against his sternum, breath caught in his throat.

 

“You know the guy that lives up in 430?” Ian asks, nodding towards the stairs, a smirk pulling at his lips. 

 

Alvie feels sick, but he doesn’t let it show.  “I know who you are,” he reminds the taller man, dark eyes narrowed as if in warning. “A-And I won’t let you near him, you got that? I’m serious, I-I’ll call the police and--”   
  
“You  _ really  _ think you can protect him?” Ian laughs-- genuinely, full on  _ laughs _ at him. “I know who  _ you _ are. Juan Alvarez, psych ward regular,” he grins, stepping forward and causing Alvie to back up into the wall of the building. “How funny that you think you’re even remotely a threat to me. You really are delusional, huh?”   
  
“I-I’m not, and I’m gonna make sure you’re stupid, twisted fuckin’ ass is put in jail, ‘cause I have--”

 

“No one would believe you, even if you  _ did _ actually have the guts to tell. I looked into your police records. Lots of arrests, huh? A little drug use here and there, some petty theft. You really think the cops will buy your story?”   
  
Alvie swallows thickly. 

 

“Of course Ruben’s only friend would be a mentally ill one,” Ian chuckles, “Probably because you’re so unstable,” he shrugs, “He doesn’t have to worry about you opening up your mouth, because even if you do, who gives a  _ fuck  _ what you have to say?” Ian steps closer, and Alvie’s frozen with fear.    
  
“Now,” Ian says, much too casually, “I’m going to leave you with a warning. Consider yourself lucky, okay?”    
  


\----

 

Ruben is worried, but he’s trying to give Alvie some space. His roommate hardly asks for alone time, and after how strange he’d been acting all day, he figured he needed it. But...Alvie went outside to smoke over  _ twenty _ minutes ago. He never takes this long, and now it’s dark outside. 

 

So Ruben takes a deep breath and opens the front door, scanning the empty, dimly lit hallway before daring to venture towards the stairs. It doesn’t take him long to locate Alvie. He’s just sitting at the bottom of the stairs, back to him, knees drawn up. 

 

“Alvie, it’s late,” Ruben reminds gently as he comes down the stairs, his gaze still roving the space around them, searching for any sign of a threat. “Come on, let’s go inside,” he urges, the anxiety clear in his voice.

 

But Alvie doesn’t answer him, doesn’t so much as look up, and Ruben begins to wonder if he’s going into another episode. He steps down all the way, prepared to sit beside him even though he really doesn’t want to-- not outside at night, but he jumps a little when he sees Alvie’s face. 

 

“Oh my God, Alvie.” He crouches down and takes Alvie’s hands just as he tries to cover his face. 

There’s a bruise already swelling his cheekbone, blood smeared from his nose across his cheek, still trickling down to his lips. There’s a split there, too, and it only adds to the bright red mess. Ruben feels his stomach turn. “What-- What the Hell happened? Come on, let-- let me get you cleaned up. Come on,” he speaks much more quickly now, and he’s relieved that Alvie allows him to help him up from the step and back to the apartment. 

 

Once they’re inside, Ruben shuts the door and locks it, and then locks the deadbolt. He directs Alvie to the bathroom, fear written in his expression. Alvie  _ still _ hasn’t said a word. 

 

“Alvie, I need you to tell me what happened,” Ruben’s speaking again, but Alvie doesn’t know what to say just yet. His head hurts too much to form a proper lie, and the last thing he wants to do is admit that Ian is around, and he’s  _ angry.  _

 

He doesn’t want to scare Ruben. He doesn’t want to make things worse than he already has. 

 

But...Ruben already knows the answer in Alvie’s silence. He knows Ian well enough to know that fucking with Alvie would’ve been his first means of making contact, especially after their phone calls weeks ago. With shaking hands, he digs out a first aid kit from beneath the sink and nods at the closed toilet seat. Alvie won’t meet his gaze, but sits very still as Ruben uses a cotton swab to put something that stings on one of the marks on his face. 

 

“Sorry. I...I’m really sorry,” he says quietly when Alvie flinches, but the apology feels like it’s for more than just the twing of pain. 

 

“Are you mad at me…?” Alvie asks after what seems like an eternity of silence, dark eyes finally meeting Ruben’s, but only briefly before he looks back down. He knows this is all his own fault. If anything, the beating was well deserved.

 

Ruben puts the kit away and nods softly as he washes his hands in the sink. Alvie feels a wave of shame flood his chest. He feels like crying. He’s ruined  _ everything _ . 

 

“I’m mad at me,” Ruben clarifies, finally turning to look at Alvie more fully, his whole expression heavy with guilt. “I should have never gotten you mixed up in any of this. I should have left you alone. Found you somewhere else to stay. I should have…”

 

Alvie waits, but Ruben is at a loss for words. 

 

“And now he’s hurting  _ you  _ because of  _ me, _ ” Ruben says finally, his voice cracking. He looks like he could cry just the same. 

 

“I’m okay,” Alvie sniffs after a moment. He manages a small smile, even if it hurts his face. “I’ve been beat up before. I can take a few hits, you know? Tougher than I look.”

 

Ruben doesn’t look amused in the slightest, only guiltier, but there’s just something about Alvie that makes it hard to argue that he should leave and save himself. Because he doesn’t  _ want  _ him to go. So he just shakes his head softly and retrieves a bottle of painkillers for him

 

While Ruben’s working out a few pills and filling a glass with water, Alvie starts to absently nod his head to a beat that only he can actually hear. 

 

“Ruben, Ruben,” Alvie begins to rap softly, drumming the fingers of one hand against the nearby wall, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “He’s my best friend, ‘parrently I gotta remind a-gain--”

 

A small smile forms at the corner of Ruben’s mouth, and even though Alvie’s beat is a little off, he continues with a bit more enthusiasm.

 

“Even though he knows my life would suck without ‘im. I ain’t even playin’. He put me in harm’s way, yeah, that’s what he’s sayin’. But even if I get beat up, I’m stll slayin’! I got news for him, I know too much, I got punched like  _ wow! _ But I don’t give a fuck ‘cause we in this together now!”

  
Alvie beams back at Ruben, who’s laughing a little, who’s smiling, who for a moment looks like he’s that guy from the magazine clipping. 

 

They were going ot be fine, he thinks. One little run-in wasn’t going to change that. Besides, he’d gladly take another round to the face if it meant Ruben didn’t have to.

 

\-----

 

The two eat dinner and try their best to not dwell on the fact that Ian’s definitely still hanging around. They watch a TV show, both take their respective showers, then speak their usual goodnights and head for bed. 

 

Alvie is fidgeting under his mess of blankets and sheets on the couch, trying to get comfortable since he can’t just lay on his stomach and face like he usually does, when Ruben comes out of the bedroom, casting soft yellow light into the darkness of the living room. Alvie sits up, noting the way that Ruben is wringing his hands. He’s in his usual flannel pajama pants and oversized sweatshirt, ready for bed, but he hardly looks like he’s going to sleep any time soon.

 

“Everything okay?” Alvie asks curiously.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Ruben nods, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “I’m just...I’m worried about what happened earlier.” 

 

“It’s okay. I’m fine, trust me, Ruben,” Alvie says with a soft sort of smile. “Really. Not the first time I got my ass kicked. And I double checked the locks and stuff, anyways. You ain’t gotta worry. We’re gonna be okay, ‘cause I said so.”

 

“Okay,” Ruben breathes, raking a hand through his hair. He still looks anxious. “Do you...want to sleep in the bed tonight?” 

 

“No, man, couch is fine. I’m not  _ that  _ beat up--”

 

“With me,” Ruben amends, and his face is slowly becoming the same shade of red as Alvie’s hooded jacket he wears around the house. Why did he always come off so awkward? He looks away, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not-- like that, or anything. I just mean...I’d feel better if I could lock my bedroom door tonight, and if you weren’t so close to the front door and--”

 

“Okay, yeah. ‘Course,” Alvie interrupts, already getting to his feet to gather both pillow and blanket. His eyes alight with excitement and he smiles back at Ruben. “It’ll be like a sleepover.”

 

\----

 

Alvie falls asleep almost instantly once he’s settled in bed, but to be fair, Ruben  _ did _ give him some strong pain meds he’d learned how to make in Jamaica. Part of its perk was how fast it could knock you out.

 

As he hears Alvie’s breathing start to turn slow and deep, Ruben decides against slipping in his earbuds to listen to his usual podcast, tonight. He’d rather be able to hear if Alvie awoke, if he needed anything, if he was okay. 

 

Ruben turns onto his side, making out the swell of Alvie’s cheekbone where he’d been hit in the faint shadow his night light plugged in by the wall casts over his face. He feels guilty, but...it could have been much, much worse. As he’s dwelling on this thought, mind churning through worst-case-scenario situations, Alvie suddenly rolls over and presses flush into Ruben’s side, face buried into his chest before he goes still again. 

Ruben goes stiff, unsure if he should move away, if that would wake Alvie up or hurt his face or if...he even actually  _ wants _ to. It’s almost comforting, to feel Alvie against him, to know he’s here and he’s safe and that for at least right now, he doesn’t have to worry about him. So Ruben decides that it can’t hurt to relax into the contact, if only for tonight. He carefully pulls the duvet over the both of them, and without much thought, he finds Alvie’s hand and not really holds it, but places his own warm palm over it. They’re going to be okay. He has to believe that. 

 

Ruben finds himself tiring out much faster than he thought he would, and soon enough, his own breathing evens out and comes slow to him, even if he’s not yet asleep. He’s too busy savoring how peaceful and quiet and still everything seems; it’s a calm he’s been deprived of for what feels like much too long. But then Alvie turns over away from him, and it’s lost. 

 

Ruben hesitates, but after a long few seconds, when it’s clear that Alvie’s not moving back, he follows him in the motion so that they’re back together again. Vaguely, Ruben wonders how he’s ever going to be able to sleep on his own, now that he knows just how good having Alvie by his side feels. But then again, maybe he doesn’t have to. 

  
  
  


To Be Continued...

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! We hope it was worth it! There will be smooching.

**Chapter 6**

  
  


The next month goes by much faster than Ruben would have liked it to. The bed-sharing habit they’d gotten into came to end after about a week, when Alvie started falling asleep on the couch in his usual fashion: sprawled out with a snack tucked under his arm, some action movie playing low on the television before him.   
  


Ruben doesn’t complain, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss the warmth that Alvie was by his side each night. He keeps racking his head for excuses to invite Alvie in for one of their ‘sleepovers’ again, but everything he comes up with sounds ridiculous at best.  _ “Hey, uh, I got new sheets. Do you wanna come...sleep on them? They’re really soft. Like..Egyptian cotton, I think.” _ God, he was such a dork. He didn’t even  _ have  _ new sheets!

  
Why was this so hard?  
  


Ruben tries to let it be, figuring that Alvie will speak up if he ever feels compelled to join him again, but it’s hard not to think about when the sun is sinking below the horizon again, casting a warm, orange-y kind of light into the apartment. He sits beside Alvie on the couch with a polite space of cushion between them, a book in hand and a mug of tea carefully held in the other. Sunday afternoons were often like this, the both of them curled up on the couch and buried in some sort of pleasant distraction until they both couldn’t keep their eyes open. He decides somewhere between the epilogue and the end of his novel that he’s just going to wait this one out. He doesn’t want to come off as pushy, and  _ definitely  _ doesn’t want to seem weird for asking Alvie to come sleep with him again like some kind of overgrown, whiny toddler-- but all that concern is lost on him when he hears the familiar, gut-wrenching sound of that stupid fucking payphone going off in the closet.    
  


Alvie looks up from the comic book page he’s been trying to read for over an hour, dark brows instantly raised in concern. “Don’t answer it,” he says all too quickly, unable to help himself. Their whole weekend had been so peaceful and nice and this would certainly throw all of it down the drain. He didn’t want to see Ruben upset all over again. He didn’t want to feel like there wasn’t anything he could do about it. But Ruben just gives him a solemn, resigned look that lets him know that he doesn’t exactly have a choice in this matter. He  _ has _ to answer the phone.    
  
  


Alvie watches as Ruben disappears from the room, a heavy sigh escaping him as he begins to worry his lower lip between his teeth. This sucks. He hates Ian. He hates him for all that he’s put Ruben through, for all that he  _ still  _ puts him through. He hates the stupid, mocking tone of his voice. He hates his hair. His face. Everything about that asshole. But-- what could he do but sit and wait? Allow Ruben to take the call and come back in tears? Nothing. Alvie hated that probably even more than Ian. He hated being helpless.

 

When Ruben returns, he’s dialing the number for a callback, mumbling under his breath as he passes through the living room and tucks himself out of earshot on the balcony. He lets out a shaky exhale. One ring. Two rings.

 

"Ruby Tuesday!" Ian says. "What's up? You didn't pick up."   
  


'You didn't pick up  _ right away’ _ , Ruben mentally corrects him, an edge of bitterness to his thoughts that he could never express with his tongue.

 

"I-- Yeah, I’m sorry. I didn't catch it in time," he lies.   
  


"That's okay," Ian says, and Ruben can practically see him shrugging in that careless, no big deal way-- even though he knows this would certainly be used against him later, at some point or another. "Just wanted to check in. You know, you've done a great job keeping your head down by the way. No news stories. No headlines. I'm proud of you, Buddy."

 

Ruben feels his eyes begin to prick with tears. Being called  _ Buddy  _ is hardly the comfort to him that it used to be. Now it makes him feel sick, like he’d swallowed lead weights and he couldn’t pick his stomach back up off the floor. He sniffs, unable to form a response just yet, and jumps a little when the patio door slides open. Alvie is standing there, all worried eyes and pulling at his hair. 

 

He shakes his head softly, willing him to go back inside, to not see him like this, but Alvie doesn’t budge. In fact, he takes a few steps out to join him at the railing, then mimes zipping up his lips to assure that he can be quiet.    
  


"Met your little yap-yap dog," Ian says and Alvie leans his head on Ruben’s shoulder, part of him grateful for not being able to hear whatever it is Ian’s stupid voice is saying. "Glad you got  _ something _ to keep you company. I worry about you, you know? Just keep him on a short leash. Got it?"

  
Ruben says nothing, feeling increasingly choked up, especially with Alvie right by his side. Tears blur his vision, and one slips down his cheek.  
  


"Ruben." Ian's voice has a sharp edge now.   
  


"Yeah," Ruben says, letting out a breath of air he didn’t even realize he’d been holding. "Short leash. I got it.”   
  


"Good,” Ian hums, seemingly satisfied even with Ruben’s delayed response. “I paid your rent, by the way? Six months, too.”  
  
Ruben mumbles a thank you, but from what Alvie can tell, it’s hardly genuine. What does he have to thank _Ian_ for?  
  
“See, Ruben? You helped me, and now you live rent free in a nice apartment and get to keep your own little weirdo fuck buddy. If you'd kept Jason around, you'd still be his same old lab rat, rotting away and pining after what you could never have. You should be grateful. Don’t forget it.”

 

The call disconnects abruptly, then, and Ruben instantly drops his head, tears rolling down his cheeks and a sob choked up somewhere in his lungs, but unable to come out.  "I'm sorry, Alvie," he weeps, and he feels Alvie’s hands working the cheap burner phone from his shaky grip. He sets it aside and just does the only thing he can think of to really help the situation. Alvie holds Ruben tight against himself,  feeling much like he's holding all the pieces of him together. He rebuts every apology that continues to escape him with an "it's okay" or an "I've got you," eventually guiding Ruben back indoors and to the sanctuary of his bedroom. 

 

"It's gonna be okay... Who gives a shit what he thinks, anyways? He looks like a mongoose or something, and-- long as I’m around I'm not gonna let anything happen, alright? I pinky swear it, Ruben. I won't let anything happen to you,” Alvie rambles on as they sink down to sit on the bed, but after a brief moment of silence, Ruben sits up on his own and wipes futilely at his cheeks. 

 

“Okay. I’m sorry. I’m fine,” he sniffles, clearing his throat and smoothing out his expression. Alvie’s always a bit in awe at how quickly Ruben can go between  _ very not okay  _ and  _ functional  _ so quickly. 

 

“You’re sure..?” he asks, cautious and careful, brows knit with concern. Alvie hesitates because he can see that Ruben's still worked up over this, that there's more going on in that head of dark hair than he can imagine, but then finally says, “You know, I could stay in here tonight. If you want.”  
  
Ruben looks up at that, something like hope and desperation or something in between the two glinting behind his eyes. “I...I would really like that.”

 

\---

 

Alvie’s seen Ruben’s scars in accidental glimpses and shadowed light, especially now that they share a bed and wake up in various states of disheveled clothing, but Ruben’s never actually  _ shown _ Alvie all the marks he hides with thick sweaters and long-sleeve shirts. 

 

He has no intention to. 

 

They’re jagged and dark, raised reminders of impossibly long nights in Jamaica. Reminders when he wasn’t allowed to sleep, or when he gave every fiber of his being into finding a cure, and it still wasn’t enough.

 

But Alvie has no real concept of personal space to begin with, and now that they unofficially share Ruben’s bed, he can no longer just change out in the open of the room. He tucks away in the bathroom with clothes folded neatly over his arm, working off his pajamas and dressing for the day. 

 

And that’s when the door flings open. 

 

Ruben flies back into the sink, clutching his sweater to his bare chest. 

 

“Oh, shit— sorry. That’s my bad, totally my bad. I thought you were already down at the store, otherwise I woulda knocked, I swear,” Alvie babbles quickly, wide eyed as he looks back at his friend/roommate/guy he now shares a bed with regularly. “Uhm,” he swallows, momentarily speechless as his gaze drifts down to the old burns on Ruben’s arms, the thick scar poking just past the clothing held up against him. “I’m sorry. Uhm. Is that why you always where long-sleeved stuff? ‘Cause…’cause you got all these marks?”

 

“Yes,” Ruben breaths, still looking much like a deer in headlights. One in which that was begging for the car to just turn around. 

 

“Okay. Yeah,” Alvie nods softly and looks away, reaching up to grip at his hair. He’s worried that he’s upset him. He really didn’t mean to. “That’s okay. I didn’t mean to freak you out or nothin’, I just thought..,” he nods again, realizing he’s definitely overstayed his welcome, but he has more he wants to say. “Uhm, well, I’ll leave you be, and we ain’t gotta have any dramatic talk or some story time if you don’t want to. But— you ain’t gotta change in here. The bathroom’s tiny as it is, Ruben. And I won’t judge, ‘kay? I swear it. There’s no reason to hide away like it’s a bad thing. Everyone’s got shit they don’t like about themselves, you know? But it makes you, you, and… Shit, I’m doin’ the dramatic talk, aren’t I?” Alvie looks up with a faint, apologetic smile. “I’m gonna go get some coffee goin’ at the store, then. Jan already came by and said she got the donuts.”

 

Ruben was still frozen in place, but he did manage a soft “okay” and the door was carefully shut back in place.

 

—-

 

It takes a long few months, but between the tiny space of the bathroom and how many times Alvie’s walked in on him at this point, Ruben gives up on trying to hide when he’s changing. 

 

Alvie pointedly makes it Not a Big Deal™️ whenever Ruben’s shirtless or stepping out of his pants. He looks away and keeps talking on without hesitation, but Ruben can feel his eyes on his back sometimes. He knows Alvie still has questions he can’t quite answer just yet.

 

It was late in the evening when Ruben decides he long overdue for a shower. He makes it quick out of habit, and leaves plenty of hot water for Alvie later. He steps out into the bedroom with a towel around his waist, still expecting the other to be out in the living room. But he isn’t.

 

Alvie is sitting cross-legged on the bed, looking much like he’s been waiting for Ruben to come out already. “Hi,” he smiles, as if Ruben standing before him, dripping wet and practically naked is nothing out of the ordinary. “Have a good shower? Water pressure’s been gettin’ better around here, I think. But I don’t get how you’re so quiet the whole time? It drives me crazy if I’m in there and all I hear is the water. Besides, the acoustics are just too good. You just have to sing. But did you have a good shower?”

 

“Yeah,” Ruben nods softly, feeling strangely under the microscope, even if Alvie’s eyes haven’t left his own. “You can go ahead and take one if you need. There’s plenty of heat left,” he explains as he carefully steps over to his dresser to pull out a fresh pair of boxers.

 

“Ah, no, I’m good. Took one this morning,” Alvie dismisses easily, turning around to face the wall while Ruben changes. But before he can get a shirt on over his head, he hears footsteps coming beside him. He turns, instinctively holding the soft cotton shirt to his chest. “Alvie, what are you doing?” he asks, more out of self-conscious worry than curiosity.

 

“Nothin’, I just— I never get the chance to see you up close like this. Is this okay?” Alvie asks, already taking a cautious step backwards. “If I’m makin’ you mad uncomfortable right now, you can tell me. I won’t be bothered. I just kinda. Wanted to see them.”

 

“Them?”

 

“Your scars.”

 

“Alvie..”

 

“No, no, I’m not asking for you to tell me about ‘em. I just wanted to see them, that’s all.”

 

Ruben’s shoulders seem to relax, some, but he doesn’t let go of his shirt. “Okay..” he breathes finally, confused as to what Alvie was getting at here, but trusting him just the same. 

 

Alvie was good at this: pushing Ruben out of his comfort zone. How was he supposed to say no?

 

Ruben stands still as Alvie’s dark eyes trace over the length of his arms, watching as his brows twitch, his lips purse in thoughtfulness. But none of it was scrutinizing. None of it felt harsh. 

 

“Can I touch one?” Alvie asks suddenly, breaking the trance-like silence between them.

 

“What?”

 

“Can I touch one of your scars?” he asks again, his tone easy-going as always. “Can I touch you, Ruben?” 

 

Ruben swallows thickly and stays put, but before he can formulate words, his head begins to nod in the slightest.

 

Alvie’s fingertips reach out hesitantly, carefully, but then they make contact with mottled flesh and Ruben instantly recoils. 

 

“I’m sorry—“ they both say in near unison. Alvie steps away. Ruben turns and starts to pull on his shirt. 

 

\-------

 

A few weeks later, Ruben and Alvie have just come back from locking up the bookstore for the night, and, like always, Alvie’s recounting the day’s events as if Ruben couldn’t possibly have drank in as much detail as he had. 

 

“But you remember that lady, right? The one with the tiny dog in her tiny dog purse? She picked up seven books, Ruben. Seven. And she read them. Like— how you gonna come in and do us like that, y’know? You don’t just go into the movie theater, watch seven movies, then jet without payin’ for a single ticket, right? Straight robbery. I was ‘bout to call her a thief, but then she bought some donuts and I chilled out,” Alvie sighed, already rocking back and forth on his heels, impatient for the door to the apartment to be opened at least a little faster. 

 

“You chilled out?” Ruben asked with a single cocked eyebrow. He pushed open the door and stepped inside the entryway, allowing Alvie to come in after him before he locked the deadbolt and checked it twice. Force of habit.

 

“Uh huh. Chilled out. ‘Cause I coulda made a whole scene out of it. But I didn’t,” Alvie hummed. “You’re welcome.”

 

Ruben just chuckled and shook his head, amusement glinting somewhere behind dark and tired eyes. But as he set his keys on the little hook by the door and started to shrug off his coat, he realized Alvie wasn’t exactly moving out of his way. The slightly shorter man was just staring back at him expectantly. “Uhm, okay, well thank you. For chilling out,” he returned with another small laugh, always kept on his toes by his friend-turned-roommate-turned-bedmate’s antics. 

 

Alvie’s brow twitched, his eyes set intensely on Ruben’s, clearly not sated with his response. He was uncharacteristically quiet.  _ Unsettlingly _ , quiet, Ruben thought. “What?” he asked almost nervously, but Alvie was never really great at explaining himself. His emotions got all jumbled up and came out in rambling anecdotes and sometimes with a few rhymes thrown in to kill off the tension. It was hard. Actions spoke louder than words or whatever, anyways, right? “Did I say something?” Ruben asked again, now looking much more worried than Alvie would have liked for him to. So he took a sudden step forward and cupped Ruben’s cheeks, pressing a firm, quick kiss to his lips. 

 

“I wanted to do that and I was tryin’ to figure out if I should or I shouldn’t but then you started lookin’ all freaked out so I just— I did. Your lips are soft,” Alvie noted, then promptly continued his way into the kitchen like nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred. Like he hadn’t just caused Ruben’s heart rate to double in speed. “What’s for dinner? I can try and make somethin’ if you want, but I don’t really cook. I can make a mean ham and cheese sandwich though. The secret’s the Cholulah. Makes anything taste better. But if you’re a Plain Jane I can just slap some mayo on it for you. Or did you wanna order pizza? ‘Cause I wouldn’t mind something crazy cheesy right now. I’m hungry. Ruben?”

 

Did that really just happen? It took Ruben a solid few seconds to formulate a response, and when he did, his words came out a bit choppy, and it was hard to focus. “Uhm, yeah. Pizza’s fine. I think we’re out of bread anyways,” he replied, clearing his throat slightly and forcing himself back into the motion of hanging up his coat.  “Just order whatever you want.”

 

——

 

Ruben doesn’t exactly pay attention to what Alvie is ordering over the phone, and mostly because he can’t stop watching his mouth as he talks. It makes him feel like a school boy who’s only just realized what having a crush is. But, of course, he tries to rationalize, he certainly doesn’t like like Alvie. Not like that. He just hasn’t been kissed in a very long time.

 

But nearly an hour later when four boxes of pizza, a bag of garlic breadsticks and two chocolate molten lava cakes show up at his door, Ruben still finds himself distracted. He’s not even mad at the ridiculous amount of food that he just paid for, nor the fact that the majority of it was going to go to waste— he’s still thinking about Alvie’s lips on his own. 

 

“Yo, you in there, doc? Come on, I got pineapple. It’s the best,” Alvie hums, already popping open one of the boxes on the coffee table and digging in.

 

“Yeah, uhm, thanks,” Ruben nods a bit jerkily and joins his friend on the couch, his heart rate picking up in his chest. They were so close all of the time but hardly ever came into contact with one another. He couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like if they did. If maybe...he leaned into Alvie’s side. If their shoulders pressed together. If their lips pressed together. Ruben cleared his throat. Why did he suddenly want this so bad?

 

Ruben wasn’t exactly the most popular kid in school. He graduated early, flew through college buried in essays and research and hardly in women. Or men. Or anyone, for that matter. He was an introvert by nature, but that didn’t mean he longed for something of substance in his life. 

 

Ruben thought he found a friend in Jason, if not something more, but rather quickly he realized it was entirely unrequited. But he still had some kind of hope. At least, that is, before Ian came into the picture. Even then Ruben clung to the idea that someone actually cared about him. After Jamaica, though, he was fairly convinced no one ever would. Not genuinely, at least. Not without expecting something in return. 

 

The only other time he’d felt something like this was at that sweaty club. Even with a ridiculously pink backpack slung on his shoulders, he was riding a high he’d never felt when that girl settled over his lap and made him feel like something worthy of her undivided attention. But even that was a set up. Even that wasn’t real. 

 

Was  _ this _ real?

 

“What?” Alvie asks with a soft laugh as he wipes the back of his hand over his mouth. Ruben’s been staring at him for what feels like forever now, and he hasn’t even taken a bite of his pizza. “You don’t like pineapple or somethin’? You nodded when I asked, so I can’t be held ‘countable for you not likin’ it. I did get an extra cheese one, though, if you want that? I can get it. It’s in the kitchen with the breadsticks, which— oh my  _ god _ , I completely forgot about the breadsticks. You want some?”

 

“No, uhm, I’m good. I just—“ Ruben is leaning in before his mind has the chance to hold him back, but much to his disappointment, they knock foreheads before their lips even meet. 

 

Instantly, Ruben’s a bright shade of red. “I’m sorry, that— I don’t know what I’m—“

 

“No, no, man. You do it like this. Gotta tilt your head,” Alvie’s got this playful, knowing smile plastered on his face, but he leans in much more fluidly than Ruben had and kisses him without hesitation. It’s soft and gentle and Ruben is reeling. It’s like magic. It’s like...comfort. It’s safe. 

 

“See? Much better when you do it like that,” Alvie hums as they part ways. He reaches for a slice of pizza and takes a bite, chewing happily as he turns his attention back to whatever’s playing on the TV.

 

“Mhmm,” Ruben mumbles, because he can’t quite come up with anything else to say. He doesn’t know what all of this means, or if it means anything at all. He doesn’t know if Alvie has expectations or if he can even meet them. But he’s smiling. And he’s happy. And for now, that’s more than enough.

 

To Be Continued...


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness. It's been forever. Trust me. Ruben and Alvie are on our minds 24/7, it's just taken forever to get this last chapter actually out, but here it is and you're in luck because...yeah, this is basically the stuff you've been waiting on. The very intimate stuff. We hope you enjoy! Remember to shoot us ideas and check us out on tumblr  
> @kikabennet and @tiredalwavs

_“Can I touch one of your scars?” he asks again, his tone easy-going as always. “Can I touch you, Ruben?”_

_Ruben swallows thickly and stays put, but before he can formulate words, his head begins to nod in the slightest._

 

They have a few more exchanges like that in the coming months, where Alvie begins to press into the walls of Ruben’s comfort zone, but is careful not to break the box. They had gotten past the hurdle of hugging and general cuddling, of kisses and hand holding, but Ruben still struggles with baring his skin. Alvie only ever touches Ruben’s scars after asking, and it’s exploratory more than anything else. Alvie drags a fingertip over raised marks and Ruben seems to shiver lightly, but he’s getting better. 

 

He lets Alvie continue, because sure, this is all hard and uncomfortable, but he _ wants  _ to be touched. Even if it sends goosebumps up his arms, even if it makes him think a little too much about where he got whichever scar Alvie is touching at the moment, it’s still a human contact he had been denied for so,  _ so  _ long. Ruben needs it. Alvie seems to pick up on that. 

 

—

 

Ruben is up early in the morning, peeling off his shirt and reaching for a sweater when Alvie rustles in his tangle of sheets on the bed. “No,” he whines, eyes heavily lidded and voice gravelly from sleep. “No, don’t. Don’t put on the sweater. Come here, Ruben.” Alvie’s making grabby hands at him, looking like a petulant child more than anything. It makes him laugh a little. 

 

“What?” Ruben asks, bemused. He still instinctively holds the fabric close to himself, but pads over to the bedside without too much hesitation.

 

“Lay back down with me,” Alvie insists, blinking slowly in the hazy morning light that filtered in through the blinds. “You always get up so early, never sleep in, never jus’ lay here with me, you know? And that’s totally okay. I admire your crazy strict routine in the mornin’s but— I’m bein’ selfish today. Lay with me for a little bit? Pretty please?” He looks back at Ruben small, hopeful smile and reaches his arms out again. “ _ Pleeeease Dr. Marcado?” _

 

_ “Fine,”  _ Ruben sighs for dramatic effect, and even though an amused little smile is playing across his lips, he’s still clutching the sweater. 

 

“Awwww yes, I  _ knew  _ the Doctor thing worked. Gotta start callin’ you that more often. I like it too, though, you know? It’s very official. Makes you wayyy cooler than me, but that’s okay, ‘cause then I get to say that the wayyy cooler guy is my boyfriend, right? So really it’s a win/win, because— what are you waiting for?” Alvie’s brows are furrowed slightly, because he’s only just now realized that Ruben is still standing and definitely not cuddled with him in bed like he should be.

 

“Sorry,” Ruben clears his throat, then starts to lift the sweater over his head, hoping Alvie will have forgotten his own request to leave it off. But he hasn’t.

 

“If you wanna wear it, that’s okay,” Alvie says, his tone a bit softer, more soothing. Ruben feels bad, but he lets the fabric slide over his arms and cover his stomach, dark eyes lowered as he finally climbs into bed. 

 

“Sorry, I just—“

 

“Ain’t gotta apologize. It’s cool. There’s no pressure and I know I say that a lot, but it’s ‘cause I mean it. You don’t have to anything if it’s makin’ you uncomfortable, okay?”

 

Ruben’s quiet for a long few seconds, but he nods. “Thanks.”

 

Alvie just hums and rolls onto his side, his arms coming around Ruben’s middle and head tucked just over his shoulder. But Ruben is laying still, he’s not comfortable still and Alvie can tell. “Hey, you don’t gotta even lay down if you don’t wanna,” he starts to remind, voice taking on that gentle note it often did.

 

“No, I want to,” Ruben insists, his brows knit and gaze fixated up on the ceiling. “I want to, Alvie, I just..” he sighed heavily, frustrated with his own anxiety. “I want to take the sweater off, believe me, but I feel like I can’t. Like I’m physically restrained. Does that make any sense…? Probably not,” Ruben covers his eyes with his hand. “I  _ want _ to lay with you like that, but— I just can’t push myself to take it off.”

 

Alvie considers this for a moment, lips pursed. “Can I, though? You said you can’t take it off, but what if I did?” he asks as he shifts to sit up in the warmth of their bed. “We could try that? And, y’know, if it’s real awful, I’ll stop in a heartbeat. Do you want to do that, Ruben?”

 

Ruben doesn’t move his hand from his eyes, but he nods after a long second.

 

“Okay…” Alvie breathes, dark eyes examining how best to maneuver the fabric off of him without forcing him to sit up and uncover his face. Which— was impossible, really, Alvie realizes. He settles for baby steps. That would be best, anyways.

 

It’s careful and slow, but it still makes Ruben’s heart pick up its pace. Alvie is slipping the thick fabric up over his navel, hands skirting along the small trail of hair there. He pauses, though, and Ruben breathes out in relief that Alvie’s taking it much slower than expected.

 

Without asking this time, though, Alvie very gently traces the dark flesh that marks where Ruben was stabbed, smoothing over the sensitive skin in a way that Ruben is convinced only he can. And this time, Ruben doesn’t shiver, he doesn’t feel sick. He feels warm. Safe.

 

Ruben uncovers his eyes and watches as Alvie moves his fingers lightly across the mark again. Alvie looks up, meeting his gaze, and offers a small, crooked smile. “That okay?” he asks, despite already knowing the answer.

 

“Yeah,” Ruben breathes, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he sits up. He leans in and presses a soft, warm kiss to Alvie’s lips. “It’s okay.”

 

\--------------------------------------

 

It’s really late. They should be going to bed, given Ruben is in charge of opening the book shop tomorrow, but he just can’t sleep. 

 

And that’s mostly because Alvie’s settled in his lap and working his mouth down his throat, but also because he has no intention of stopping him.

 

Alvie’s making soft sounds as he trails hot, open-mouthed kisses down to Ruben’s collar, and once there, he tugs the fabric aside to continue. Ruben’s head drops back on the couch, his mind spinning. Sometimes he’s convinced his life is too good to be true, and he feels a vague sort of anxiety that he’s going to wake up from a dream at any moment, but Alvie’s talking again, which grounds him back into the present.

 

“Huh?” Ruben asks as he looks up, his pupils dilated, gaze a bit unfocused. 

 

“Can I take it off?” Alvie asks again, hands already poised at the hem of his sweater to do just that. Ruben nods softly, because if it’s what Alvie wanted, he’d be more than happy to oblige.

 

They’d never gone this far before, Ruben realizes as Alvie’s mouth returns to the heat of his skin. Sure, they’d made out plenty of times, but they never quite let it drift any further. And actually, it was Alvie who would usually shy away and call it quits, opting to cuddle or take a cold shower instead. Ruben didn’t quite understand, but he didn’t press with questions either.

 

He made a mental note tomorrow to try and talk about it. Alvie was great at getting Ruben to open up, but for some reason, he was reluctant to do the same in return sometimes.

 

“Mm.. Alvie.. do you..” Ruben sighs, his eyes fluttering shut as Alvie sucks a small mark just below his collar bone. “Do you want to..uhm..go to the bedroom?”

 

“Mm-mm,” Alvie shakes his head lightly, too caught up in the moment to have to get up and move. He sinks lower into Ruben’s lap, finally shifting off of the couch entirely and coming to rest on his knees between Ruben’s legs. He kisses down his chest, then hesitates, looking up at Ruben briefly.  _ God _ , he looks sososo good. He looks blissed out, which Alvie especially likes. Ruben deserves attention like this, and Alvie’s full of pride that he’s the one who gets to dole it out.

 

Ruben makes a soft sound of questioning, because Alvie’s staring and definitely not kissing him anymore, and Alvie quickly diverts his gaze back to where he left off. Right above Ruben’s jagged scar on his stomach. 

 

Alvie presses a gentle kiss above it, half-considering skipping it all together in an effort to not make Ruben uncomfortable, but he knew the skin was ridiculously sensitive. Maybe if he just…

 

Ruben groans low, a sound Alvie’s never heard him make, and he looks back with wide eyes. “Did you just—?”

 

Alvie freezes, his eyes somehow even wider than Ruben’s. “Yeah, is that okay? I’m sorry, I just thought that since it’s all tender there and what-not that it would feel good, but if it’s weird, I won’t do it again. Are you oka—“

 

“Do it again. Please,” Ruben interrupts a bit breathlessly, unable to help himself.

 

Alvie looks confused, but only for a second. Something like a smirk pulls at his lips, and he obeys easily. Maintaining eye contact, he licks a stripe up the raised flesh.

 

Ruben makes that sound again, and Alvie’s whole body aches to hear it on a loop.

 

“I— Yeah, I like that,” Ruben nods, looking vaguely embarrassed but surprised just the same.

 

“Good to know.”

  
  


\-------------------------------------

 

“Nononono, I’mma have to stop you right there, Ruben,” Alvie’s holding back giggles as he steps into the apartment. “You could  _ one thousand percent _ be a male model, okay? I’m serious. You have the whole…” he waves his hands around, but can’t exactly pinpoint the word he’s looking for, “..thing about you, y’know? It’s different. I like it.”   
  


_ Okay _ , Ruben thinks, shaking his head with amusement,  _ Alvie is  _ definitely  _ a lightweight.  _ Only a few glasses of wine along with copious amounts of garlic bread and all the fettucini alfredo he could have asked for, and Alvie was  _ still  _ tipsy. 

 

To be fair, though, Ruben was feeling a bit buzzed himself. 

 

He tried not to dwell too much on whenever the last time it was that he drank alcohol, because he’s fairly sure it was forced, and it certainly wasn’t some sweet white wine at a candle lit dinner. 

 

This was different, Ruben had to remind himself. This was a date. He was  _ allowed _ to have fun. He was allowed to relax.

 

“Are you even listenin’ to me?” Alvie asks with a hand planted firm on the wall for support as he toes off his shoes. Ruben only just now realizes that he’d zoned out in his own process of locking up the door and shedding his coat. “That’s cold, Ruben. I’m over here _complimentin’_ you up and down ‘cause it’s just the facts, and you ain’t even hearin’ any of it!”  
  
“I heard you, I heard you,” Ruben assures, holding out his arm for Alvie to hold onto instead as he grunts and struggles to kick off his shoe. “And I appreciate it. But-- I’m not cut out for the modeling industry. _That’s_ just the facts,” he chuckles. 

 

Alvie just makes a buzzer sound with his nose all wrinkled. “Wrong again! Sorry. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars.”  
  
“You’re not making any sense,” Ruben laughs. He says that a lot, but Alvie doesn’t mind. If it’s making Ruben smile, it doesn’t have to make sense, he thinks. 

 

Once Alvie is finally out of his shoes and tugging off his tie, Ruben guides him back to their bedroom. He disappears momentarily, much to Alvie’s disappointment, but comes back shortly with a glass of water. “Here, drink up. Alcohol’s dehydrating.”  
  
“Yeah, no kidding. I peed like twelve times at the restaurant,” Alvie snorts and takes the glass with a grateful little smile before promptly chugging it. 

 

“It was more like three, but-- yeah,” Ruben says, amusement dancing behind his eyes as he picks up Alvie’s tie and tosses it to the hamper. 

 

“Thank you,” Alvie says a bit breathlessly, setting the now emptied glass aside and dropping back onto their bed. He makes grabby hands for his boyfriend, and Ruben obliges him easily. Settling on his side beside Ruben, Alvie notices the dinky lamp little lamp he had thrifted earlier in the week casts a soft glow on Ruben’s features. He was glad he bought it. It made him look so warm, he could practically  _ feel _ his heart melting. “You’re really the best, you know that? Have I said that before? ‘Cause it’s true. You’re the best everything. Best book store employee, best pasta cook, best book reader, best boyfriend..” Alvie keeps trailing on, but Ruben cuts him off after the eight item on the list with a gentle press of lips to his own.    
  
“Thanks,” Ruben says with a small, content sort of smile.    
  
Alvie reflects that smile, dark eyes searching Ruben’s briefly, but then he surges forward to kiss Ruben back. Ruben’s eyes widen slightly before they fall shut at the sensation; Alvie’s already nipping on his lower lip. He’s shifting them on the bed so that Ruben is laid back and Alvie is settled on his lap, calloused palms already slipping up the warmth of his skin from beneath his sweater.    
  
“Alvie..” Ruben breaks away mostly because he needs some air, but also because his boyfriend seems to be stepping on the throttle without hesitation. Alvie’s never quite like that.

 

“Huh?” Alvie asks, pulling back to look at Ruben with wet lips, his pupils dilated with want.    
  
“Are you okay?”   
  
“Yeah, ‘course I’m okay,” Alvie nods, “I’m okay.”   
  
Before Ruben can quite argue that, Alvie’s face is buried in his neck, mouth working open-mouthed kisses down to his collarbone, and all concern from before is lost on him. 

 

But only briefly.

 

Ruben can tell there’s something off here. Alvie’s already working off his pants, belt removed with surprising dexterity. 

 

Usually when they’re together like this, Alvie eventually melts into nervous laughter and awkward excuses to slow things down when it comes to undressing himself. He shies away from taking things this far; he gets nervous when Ruben’s hands ever wander.

 

But now?  He’s already stepping out of his boxers. His hands tremble slightly on the button of Ruben’s pants, fumbling to open them up in his haste. 

 

“Alvie,” Ruben speaks up again, his tone more serious, expression veiled with concern. “We don’t have to do this if you aren’t ready. We can stop. I won’t be upset. Will you— Alvie, will you look at me please?”

 

He takes both of Alvie’s hands gently in his own, bringing his rushed efforts to get him undressed to a halt. “It’s okay, Alvie. Really. We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with, like you always say to me, right?  _ We can stop _ .”

 

“I—“ Alvie looks back at Ruben, brows pinched with frustration. “I  _ do _ want to, I just— I don’t know, you’re— you’re  _ you  _ and I know that you want to do  _ this  _ and it’s a lot right now but I  _ want  _ to, Ruben. And— I wanna get off too, anyways. Just— just let me do this, okay? I don’t wanna stop.” 

 

Alvie looks borderline desperate to have Ruben just drop it.

 

“What do you mean I’m  _ me?”  _ Ruben asks with confusion clear in his tone, eyes narrowing. He sits up on his elbows to better look at his boyfriend, and Alvie lets out a huff of air like a petulant child who’s not getting his way, even if  _ he’s _ not sure what it is he’s after.

 

“I mean— I-I like you, but I also want to do the...you know, all of  _ this  _ with you, too. And— and…” Alvie reaches up and grips the hair on his scalp, knuckles baring white as he looks down. His thoughts are coming too fast, and it’s hard to articulate how’s he’s feeling, because, shit, how  _ is  _ he feeling right now?

 

A lot is the answer. But Alvie’s mostly scared. 

 

Ruben’s looks confused, and Alvie just huffs again in his frustration.

 

“Okay…”  Ruben responds slowly, shifting again so that Alvie has to get up. Alvie moves to sit against the headboard and curls in on himself slightly, suddenly embarrassed of his nudity.

 

“What’s wrong, then?” Ruben presses for information, still looking perplexed in every sense of the word. So Alvie likes him and wants to have sex. What’s the hang up? What’s got him so worked up?

 

“Nothin’s  _ wrong,  _ I just— I don’t wanna mess anything  _ up _ . I wanna do this, but I  _ don’t  _ at the same time,” Alvie tries to explain while his other hand snakes into the short crop of his hair to pull just the same. “And it just  _ sucks _ , man.”

 

“‘Mess what up? And...how?” 

 

Alvie’s growing more frustrated, pulling at his hair harder with the questions, and Ruben starts to consider maybe giving in and letting this go for the night. But he doesn’t. 

 

“Mess  _ us  _ up. With the...the sex.”

 

Ruben is trying to understand, genuinely, but Alvie’s just not making sense to him. He doesn’t say that this time, though.

 

“How would having sex mess us up, Alvie?”

 

“Because— sex always— it always screws stuff up, y’know? You have sex with someone, you get off, and they leave. That’s— that’s how it always goes. But I  _ know  _ you wanna have sex, and I wanna too, but I just— I ain’t ready to ruin shit yet. I like you, Ruben. A lot a lot, okay?”

 

Ruben considers this for a long moment, and when he looks back up to meet Alvie’s gaze, he can tell he’s trying not to cry. 

 

“I’m not going anywhere. You do know that, right?” Ruben speaks carefully, sincerely.

 

Alvie swallows thickly. People say things like that all the time and don’t really mean them. He suddenly feels stupid for trying to do this at all. “You don’t get it,” Alvie mumbles, looking away as hot tears threaten to blur his vision.

 

“No, I...I don’t, Alvie, but I’m trying to.” 

 

Ruben’s voice is gentle and warm, and Alvie’s still growing used to someone who treats him with genuine kindness. It makes him feel that much worse, though, because he knows what a mess he must look like right now. He knows he’s a lot to deal with, and Ruben shouldn’t  _ have  _ to work to understand something so complicated.

 

Ruben deserves better, Alvie thinks.

 

“What are you afraid of happening..? I mean, if we were to...have sex.” Ruben’s asking more questions, and Alvie lets out a shaky exhale. He at least owes him an explanation. So he tries his best, even if it doesn’t quite feel like it will be enough. 

 

“I’m afraid—“ Alvie pauses to wipe roughly at his cheeks, “I’m afraid that you’re gonna not want me after. That— that you’re gonna be done and I’m gonna have to go and that’s that. ‘Cause sex does that to people. It makes ‘em realize they ain’t gotta play nice anymore. They got what they want.”

 

“And you think...that all I want from you is sex?”

 

“No, I just— it’s— it’s not like  _ that,  _ I just…” Alvie huffs again and looks up at Ruben. “I’ve never had sex with someone I actually  _ like _ . It’s— It’s always people I don’t really know. Just to get off, sorta thing. It’s like, business, sorta. But—“ he shakes his head quickly. “That makes me sound like I work corners. I ain’t tryin’ to say that. What I’m  _ saying  _ is that…”

 

“You’re afraid because you’ve never had sex with emotions attached, and it’s new. It’s...scary.”

 

Alvie nods softly, grateful for Ruben filling in the blanks.

 

“I never had nothin’ to lose before. And I’ve never done it like this, Ruben. I’m afraid of screwin’ it up. I don’t even know what— what it’s supposed to  _ be  _ like, you know?”

 

Ruben nods his understanding, holding Alvie’s gaze with a tender one of his own. There’s a long sort of pause where they both look back at each other, but finally Ruben speaks up.

 

“Can I try and show you?”

 

Alvie sniffles again, but after a long few seconds, he nods. He trusts Ruben, he has to remind himself. He  _ trusts _ him.

 

—

 

Ruben starts things back up at a much slower, much more careful pace. By now, all trace of alcohol has worn off in his system and he’s finely tuned to each reaction Alvie is giving him. 

 

There’s a few soft exhales and a moan that escapes his boyfriend’s lips as he kisses down his jaw, free hand tenderly carding through the hair Alvie had been pulling. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m here, okay? I’m here and you’re okay…” Ruben reminds in the form of a whisper, and Alvie just nods before his head lolls back into the pillows, wide eyes finally fluttering shut.

 

Everything feels warm and soft and Alvie still can’t understand how something so rough is suddenly so kind and gentle. 

 

Eventually, though, Ruben pulls back with slightly swollen lips and heavy, dark eyes. “Are you okay?”

 

Alvie’s the one usually asking that question. 

 

He nods softly, unable to find his words for the time being. 

 

“Okay,” Ruben breathes, shifting back on his knees and undoing the fly to his pants. He sheds the clothing with a bit of shifting and awkward pulling, but it makes Alvie smile and Ruben thinks it’s adorable, so it’s worth the slight embarrassment. 

 

“Shirt..?” Alvie asks softly as he reaches forward to tug at the hem of Ruben’s sweater. Like always, Ruben hesitates for a moment, but discards that clothing to floor just the same. 

 

Alvie sighs something like relief, fingertips instantly moving to brush over the small patch of hair on his chest, down to the thick indention of scar towards his stomach.

 

Ruben shivers. Alvie is enamored.

 

Their lips meet again in that same, slow sort of burn that’s alien to Alvie, but one that he can’t get enough of. His hands run up and down Ruben’s back, feeling the small ridges of scars and deep scratches, of belt marks and small burns. He hasn’t said it out loud yet, but Alvie is convinced he’s in love with every bit of him, scars and all.

 

When they part for air, they’re both smiling back at one another, breathless and dopey and everything is so good that Alvie can’t believe it’s actually even happening.

 

“Hi,” Alvie breathes.

 

“Hey,” Ruben laughs a little, his eyes crinkling with the expression. Again they just hold one another’s gaze, drinking in the moment for what it is, but moment’s like this don’t ever quite last that long, because Alvie can’t stand the silence.

 

“You’re so hot, Ruben, this isn’t fair,” he whines suddenly, and he’s about to start spewing more compliments, but is cut off as Ruben leans down to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

 

“I think you’ve got your rose-colored glasses on, Alvie.” Ruben leans to retrieve a small bottle of lube and a condom from the nightstand and Alvie snorts. “I don’t even  _ wear  _ glasses, what’re you talking about?” Ruben just shakes his head with amusement as he settles back between Alvie’s legs. But then there’s a pause. 

 

“Is this okay?”

 

“Yeah, it’s okay,” Alvie nods, expression shifting to something more serious. “More than okay.  _ Extra  _ okay.”

 

“Alright,” Ruben breathes out a soft laugh and fumbles slightly with the condom, but he manages to roll it on after a few seconds. “You’ll tell me if that changes, though, right?”

 

“Mhmm. But it’s not gonna,” Alvie says, self-assured and half-distracted as he watches Ruben squirt out a small palmful of the jelly-like liquid. “Wait—“

 

Ruben freezes the lubed hand on his cock, worry instantly in his eyes. 

 

“You gotta...y’know, prep me, first,” Alvie says, squirming slightly at the thought of Ruben just going in all at once. He was far from small enough for that to  _ not  _ be painful, no doubt.

 

“Oh,” Ruben says, brows furrowed slightly.

 

Alvie looks confused. “Ruben, you ever done this before?” he asks, eyes slowly growing wide with surprise, because the face Ruben’s making gives him his answer. 

 

“No, not— not exactly,” Ruben admits with an awkward sort of laugh, one that has Alvie dropping back into the pillows with how stupid cute it is.    
  
“I can’t believe I’m the one freakin’ out tonight, and  _ you’re  _ the one who’s never even had sex!”

 

Alvie looks back up and Ruben’s a shade of pink.    
  
“I’ve had  _ sex  _ Alvie, I’m not a virgin,” he defends, “Just-- I’ve never had sex with a  _ guy.” _

 

Alvie’s mouth forms a small ‘o’ shape, but then he lights right back up with a playful, reassuring smile.

 

“It’s all good. I mean, everyone’s gotta start somewhere, right? I’ll walk you through it. Just— fingers first. One and then  _ two _ and then…three, and I should be good for the rest of you, yeah?” he explains as he counts off on his fingers, then gives a slight wave of his hand, like it’s really no big deal.

 

“Got it, yeah,” Ruben nods, his cheeks warm and self-consciousness burning through his chest, because dammit— he thought he’d watched enough porn to get all of this right already. 

 

But then Alvie’s laying back with that heavy look in his eyes again, and suddenly Ruben can’t be bothered to care about the blip anymore. 

 

\----

 

Ruben coats his fingers with lube, chewing on the inside of his lower lip as he leans back over Alvie to press a kiss to his lips, struggling to ease out his own awkwardness, but Alvie doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest. He meets his mouth with tongue and audibly sighs when one of Ruben’s fingers finally presses inside of him. He wriggles down on the digit, groaning softly once the pressure reaches just where he needs it. “Like that. That’s good.”   
  
“It’s good?” Ruben asks, drawing back just enough so that he can talk as he carefully massages the spot that seems to make Alvie breathe a bit heavier.    
  
“Yeah, it’s  _ so  _  good. You’re doing so good, Ruben, like a...a pro, or somethin’,” he mumbles with a lazy grin, calloused palm sliding back behind Ruben’s neck to bring him back down to kiss.    
  
  


“So good, Ruben. Add another.”

 

—-

 

Ruben’s moving painfully slow, but he’s trying to be careful. Alvie’s legs are hooked over his shoulders, their mouths meeting in a string of fevered, breathy kisses.

 

“ _ Dios mio _ , that’s good,” Alvie practically whimpers, fingernails digging in light crescent shapes on Ruben’s shoulders. “So good, Ruben, you’re so so good, like— ridiculously good. So good.” He keeps babbling on like that until he’s cut off by another kiss, his head practically spinning. 

 

Alvie’s fairly convinced nothing in the world feels as good as this does right now. It’s hot and gentle and slow and kind and nothing that he’s ever experienced before; not like this, at least. 

 

“You can go faster, Ruben, you don’t— ngh —you don’t gotta hold back,” he’s panting now, a soft moan escaping him as Ruben shifts and presses deeper inside of him.

 

“You’re sure?”

 

“Yeah, I’m sure, I’m so sure. I’ve never been more sure if anything ever at all, okay? You’re doing so good, sososo good.”

 

Ruben soaks in the praise like a dry sponge, a shaky exhale leaving his lips before he nods jerkily and does just that. 

 

Both of them are reduced to groans and breathless  _ is that okay _ ’s and  _ please keep doing that _ ’s, their bodies flush and hands desperately running over flushed chests and sweaty backs. 

 

Alvie felt like he never had before. Ruben felt whole.

\---

 

There’s only been a few times in Alvie’s life that he was convinced that what was happening was too good to be true, but this for damn sure was one of them. His whole body felt like a livewire, like he could feel everything and all at once and so  _ intensely.  _ But this was nothing exactly new. That was just sex.

 

No, what had Alvie in disbelief of the experience was how Ruben kept looking at him, at how he murmured low in his ear and kissed at his neck. It was the way he cupped Alvie’s cheek when they kissed, the way his hand ran down his thighs and his low voice kept asking for reassurance that everything was okay. 

 

_ Of fucking course  _ everything was okay, Alvie kept thinking.   
  
This was the most okay he’d ever  _ been _ . He felt safe and comfortable and so  _ good  _ and warm and...loved. 

 

Alvie felt  _ loved _ .

 

He swallowed thickly as he realizes this, dark eyes fixating on the ceiling above. So  _ this  _ is what it was supposed to feel like. He felt like he could cry.    
  
“Alvie..?”    
  
Ruben’s voice sounds kind of echo-y, and it takes Alvie a moment to get out of his head and actually hear him.    
  
“Alvie, what’s wrong? Am I hurting you? Do you want me to stop?”   
  
Ruben looks worried, he’s stopped moving, and that’s the  _ last  _ thing Alvie wants right now. 

 

He shakes his head softly. “No, no. I’m okay. I’m okay, Ruben. Please keep-- just keep moving, please. I just-- I really love you and I-I love this and please, just-- please don’t stop. I really, really like it, that’s all.”    
  


There’s a long pause as Ruben decides whether or not to continue, but Alvie’s hands are splayed against his chest, fingers running over thick scars with a feather-light touch. He’s looking up at him with big, brown eyes, and Ruben can’t help but nod softly. “I really love you, too, Alvie,” he says with a soft sort of smile, and then their lips are connecting all over again and Alvie holds him that much closer. 

 

\--- 

 

Alvie’s the first to tip over the edge. He’s panting and at a loss for words, just desperately grasping at the sheets as each thrust forces broken sounds from his mouth. It’s not long before Ruben’s hips begin to stutter, though, and he’s pushed right over the edge with him, his breaths coming hard and uneven, head dropping into the crook of Alvie’s neck.

 

They stay like that for a long few moments, just breathing, both of them taking their time to come back down to earth. Then there’s a bit of shifting to untangle their limbs, but Alvie makes no move to let go of Ruben. His arms are drawn close around his neck and his eyes are shut to the soft light of their bedroom. He’s never felt more content.

 

But then there’s a soft hiccupping sound in his ear, and Alvie stiffens.    
  
“Ruben, are you-- are you  _ crying?”  _ he asks, instantly pulling away so that he can sit up, so that Ruben has to follow suit. “What’s wrong? I thought-- I thought it was...amazing. Did I do somethin’ wrong?”

 

“No,” Ruben laughs tearfully, pushing up with one hand on the mattress to bring himself right side up. He sniffles and wipes at his cheek. “It  _ was  _ amazing. I just--” he swallows thickly, feeling a bit sheepish for being so suddenly emotional. “It’s been a long,  _ long  _ time since...since I’ve felt this way. And I didn’t realize how much...I  missed it, I guess.”

 

Alvie visibly relaxes, worried features softening. He reaches forward and gently pushes some of the dark curls plastered to Ruben’s forehead back, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, it’s good, right? It’s...really good.”

 

“Very good,” Ruben chuckles, sniffling as he looks back at Alvie. “I love you.”   
  
“I love you, too. But-- I’m gonna be real with you right now, okay? That whole thing, the whole sex thing? It made me  _ starving _ . Do you think we got any donuts left?”

 

Ruben’s head drops back as he laughs, and Alvie’s laughing right along with him. 

 

“Yo, but I’m  _ serious!  _ Sex never makes me this hungry, but I’m literally  _ dyin’  _ over here, Ruben!”

 

“Okay, okay,” Ruben laughs, shaking his head. “I think there’s some donut-holes in the fridge from this morning. The ones with the sprinkles,” he says as he finally gets up from the warmth of the mattress and redressed himself.   
  
“Those are my favorite,” Alvie hums, tugging on his boxers just the same. 

 

Ruben smiles. “I know.”

 


End file.
